


Name Confused

by enchanted_nightingale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Harry Potter/Sherlock Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 110
Words: 57,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchanted_nightingale/pseuds/enchanted_nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mycroft’s name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shadow King

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

1\. The Shadow King  
It felt odd, seeing the office around him. He knew he was not the first one to inherit this position and with it such power, he was not that arrogant to believe this or delusional. All his knowledge and games and strategy and manipulation from the shadows had brought him here. 'Here' was not literal. The office in itself was nothing outstanding, just wood and leather inside four walls, surrounded by too much security. Its essence the power he held that made this position the top, the highlight of his career and he was only in his thirties.  
Mycroft stared at his reflection in the screen of his lap top. He was, unofficially of course, the very top as far as political power went in UK. He was as his estranged sibling often and quite dramatically accused, the British Government. He held the power to bring down or make a Prime Minister, the economy, the army, everything and anything. He had the ear of the Palace, the keys as well. He protected the country from internal and external threats. He was literally the puppet master behind laws and legislations, bringing down terrorists and maintaining peace. He ruled from the shadows and more often than not, his dear puppets had not even the slightest inclination he was doing it. Not all that surprising that one, considering only a select few could spot him in a room and not bypass him as just another bland, run of the mill and useless bureaucrat. People had been underestimating him since he was a kid. Mycroft, unlike his younger brother, used their ignorance to his gain, hiding in their expectations and using them to further his agenda, and what a busy agenda that was. But all his plans, all his designs nearly came to an early end.  
Just that morning there had been an attempt on his life, the first of many to come, he was sure. It had annoyed him more than it angered him to be shot at. And as an insult to the already gaping metaphorical injury, his people had run around like headless chickens, not knowing how to react. Well, not ‘his’ people. He had not yet had the time to pick every single one of them and check their backgrounds personally, not when he had been busy with the elections. One blind spot and all hell broke loose. And how he was doing everything in his power to fix that.  
There was a knock on the door and Mycroft turned. His voice was crisp and clear when he spoke.  
“Enter.”  
Tall, but not taller than him. An expensive, well fitted and tailored suit in charcoal black with thin grey stripes, grey shirt and a black tie. Emerald green eyes peeking from behind rectangular and stylish glasses. The jacket and trousers did not curve at all, but Mycroft knew the man was armed with at least three guns and one more, a trump card.  
“Harry Potter,” Mycroft states.  
“Mycroft Holmes,” came the deep voice.  
“You know who I am?”  
“As well as you know who I am… Sir.”  
Mycroft assessed the man he had been assured would become his shadow. Harry Potter. Orphaned as a child. Abused by family relatives growing up. Used once already by the great men of the country to save lives. A weapon by choice and habit now. A man who could see Mycroft’s position and understand. A man who liked the shadows as much as Mycroft did. The man who was the British Government had read the file on the wizard, yes he knew about the Other side as well. They had caused a number of problems because of their civil war and had made his work rather difficult. Thankfully all that was now in the past.  
“You know what’s required of you,” Mycroft states when he has finished assessing the green eyed wizard who stands still across the room. He does not fidget or seem uncomfortable and that is a trait Holmes appreciates. It is not an awkward silence either. Potter nods at the statement the other man makes but there really was no other way. He would not really be here if he had not known and already been accepted, but even Mycroft must conform to some formalities.  
“Do you agree?” Mycroft asks. Another formality but he wants to hear the answer. He is much like the devil in this subject. And in a way Potter being in this room, in his presence, is a lot like a contract, the wizard selling his body and services and in actuality his life and soul to Mycroft and his cause and plans.  
“Yes.”  
Again, Mycroft expected the answer. He does not smile but he does feel content that he now has at least one man he can trust with his affairs. The Unbreakable Vow they later share is yet another formality. Their bonded witness is a wizard as well, one Potter summarily Obliviates and then sends away. It has started; their partnership. And Mycroft’s first task comes soon after.  
“I want my attackers found,” he orders and Potter just nods.  
Two hours later the men are found and summarily punished and Mycroft can focus on more important things.


	2. Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The Separation Act was in place for five years, six months and twenty days as of that morning. The Act is essentially the barrier that separates the Magical and Non-Magical worlds so that they no longer stepped on each other’s toes. Much like the Elves of old millennia ago had retired in a pocket dimension, on Earth but not quite, the wizards and witches and the magical creatures finally decide to go that way. In the beginning and end of this decision was a prophecy that foretold a dark age, wars and tragedy as long as the two worlds shared space. Harry James Potter, the Saviour, the Boy Who Vanquished Voldemort, was nineteen when the prophecy was made. He was twenty when the rulers of the Magical world, creatures and humans alike, got together and decided to cooperate. They made plans to retrieve the Muggleborns through portals. They made a dimension like another, if a bit smaller Earth, that was theirs. 

Harry was twenty five when the plan was finalized and he was twenty five and a day old when he knew that he would not be joining the other Magicals into the barrier. There had been others who had stayed behind but the majority had crossed over. As the years went by, Harry Potter, Auror and later Hit Wizard had felt out of sorts with his life, not quite fitting in, hating the spotlight; not knowing what to do with it. He had tried to make his life, settle down with Ginny, have a family, but the seams just did not fit any more. For three years before the Barrier was raised he had retreated from the magical world, like a self banishment really. He still helped his friends and family, but from the shadows, liking being a nobody, not being stared at. 

Harry kept most of his money and converted it to Muggle money, left quite a lot to his godson, said his goodbyes and never crossed the gates. To this day he had no idea what his friends and family thought and a part of him did not really care, because finally, he was at peace. No one stared at him, no one expected him to save the world just because he had twice in the past. He was no longer a messiah, a hero. He was finally happy. The one favour he had asked of Kingsley was to get him in touch with the British Services, just before he quit his Auror position. As an agent under her Majesty’s service, he was no longer THE Harry Potter, just Potter. And when the notice came, the same one that brought him to Mycroft Holmes’ office, and when he left that place, he was not even Potter because he could have no name, no identity to trace and exploit. He was just a face without a name and despite being saddled to the man who was the British Government; he was freer than he had been in a long while.


	3. Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The ride was silent if one ignored the constant ticking of buttons. The two men sat side by side in the black car. Eyes had a Blackberry out and was texting furiously and non stop. At his side, Mycroft Holmes sat, a lap top opened on his lap, eyes watching the video feed.  
“And I’ve just been out of the office for lunch,” Mycroft is shaking his head. “One measly hour and a war nearly broke out.”  
Eyes snorts but remains silent otherwise, his texting never stopping.   
Mycroft shoots him a glance. “Progress?”  
“The satellites have them,” came the whispered response.  
“How long till we reach the Ministry of Defence?”  
“Three.”  
It is exactly three minutes later that the car stops. Mycroft has turned off and locked his lap top. Eyes, not once taking his eyes off his Blackberry, exits the car first, green eyes subtly glowing as he sweeps the area once, from behind dark glasses. Then he walks over to the other side of the car and opens the door for his boss. Mycroft exits elegantly, first a leg, then the umbrella, then another leg. The guards outside are standing in attention as Mycroft walks past them, Eyes merely a step behind the man.   
Gordon Peters is a tall man, taller than them, decked in an expensive suit and an air of pompousness that suffocates the room. He thinks he knows everything and that is the first reason why Mycroft dislikes the man. The second is because this man has ruined a perfectly busy day, what with the elections in the Philippines and all. he knows Peters does not like him either, thinking him an ignorant man, a pencil pusher he can boss around and scare but Mycroft is annoyed and is not about to placate the man’s delusions. Brigadier Jones and General Woodberg stare when he enters. They see what Peters cannot or perhaps loathes to see and stay in the background as Mycroft, calm and smiling, tears into Peters, demanding answers from the politician but not really needing them. He knows that Peters took one million pounds from that particular industry in order for the army to get new rifles. He knows that that particular weapon manufacturer is also dealing arms to their enemies and has recently had a hand organizing an uprising in Somalia and he is far from happy about it, especially since there is only danger and no real gain for them in using said supplier, who is going to lose his little uprising anyway.  
“Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?” Peters shouts.   
Then he rounds up on the green eyed wizard who is happily texting in the background, seemingly ignoring all of them.  
“And what the hell is pretty boy over there doing? You! Don’t you have a name?”  
The wizard looks up. “Eyes.”  
“What?” Peters sputters.  
“That is his name,” Mycroft explains as if the man before him was a child. “And your services are no longer needed, Minister.”  
The man splutters a bit before vulgarities leave his mouth. Eyes finally looks up from his phone, walks towards Mycroft and shows the man something that has Holmes smiling.  
“Perfect, thank you Eyes,” Mycroft tells the raven haired wizard. He turns to Peters. “Your accounts have been frozen and the money you took removed.” He ignores how the man before him flounders and is ready to protest. “There will be no official inquiry, no scandal.” He does not say that the reason there will not be a loud, public mess is because he is not bored enough to resort to such measures and that the current political climate in the country suits him. It is not for the ears of the people, Eyes excluded, in this room.   
“As of ten minutes ago you resigned your post,” Mycroft continues.  
“I did not!” Peters shouts.   
“The Post thinks differently and who am I to argue?” Holmes asks, a smile on his face. “You are a loving husband after all, taking the time to see to your wife after the scare she had what with the near kidnap of your daughter.”  
Peters is now pale and trembling and the army people pretending not to listen to the whole exchange.  
“What have you done?” the politician is no longer shouting.  
“Nothing,” Mycroft continues to smile. “That is only what the papers will write and what you will convince your family to say, unless you want your wife and consequently your father in law to find out about Deborah Bryan, the cute twenty something year old maid you had an affair with. Cute boy Chris turned out to be, just had his second birthday too.”  
Peters sits in his chair, his entire body shivering.  
Eyes steps forward, documents in his hands.  
“Confidentiality agreement conveying everything we have so far discussed,” Mycroft explains. “Signing it is not optional.”  
When they leave the building later, they immediately enter the car, Mycroft and Eyes sharing the silence. It is another day at work after all, even though Mycroft hates cleaning up after those who were supposed to work alongside of him.  
“Your table is still reserved,” the green eyed wizard speaks up once the car engine is on.  
Mycroft glances at him. “My appetite is ruined. Tell me, my Eyes, what is new from the election front?”  
The report is detailed; making Mycroft’s evening decidedly more pleasant.


	4. Diogenes Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The ‘Diogenes Club’ was first and foremost a gentlemen’s club. Of course the term ‘gentlemen’s’ was a bit misleading as women had been allowed in the Club for the better part of the nineteenth century in small numbers, had an easier access during the twentieth century and now, well into the twenty first, were as many as the men. It was a place for minds like Mycroft’s to gather and think. It had all the amenities of a club of considerable repute and the membership cards were exclusive to the influential people, those truly influential and not money wise. It was for people who with a whisper could start a war and with a few suggestions could overthrow entire governments. It had not started like this, but its functions evolved enough to include one of Mycroft’s particular favourites, the ‘Diogenes Club’ acted as a front for the British Secret Services, but only when Mycroft fancied it. It was after all a Holmes who had co founded this establishment a couple of centuries back. Sherlock had naturally learned of its existence and like everything that had to do with Mycroft, had turned his nose down on it, claiming that it contained the most unsociable and lazy men in London, possibly the entire United Kingdom.

Mycroft felt at home in that place, where quiet was requested of the members, where he could think, plot, relax among people like him. It was the one place no one bothered him, not even his brother. Or when Sherlock did come, he was not allowed inside. The only place ‘Diogenes Club’ allowed non members and talking was the ‘Strangers Room’ that existed for that reason only. Everywhere else, silence was the rule. The members were not allowed to even cough. Three chances, three coughs even, and they were no longer members of the Club.

It was the one place the green eyed wizard never followed him and not because he could not. He actually had the power and connections to become a member, but the wizard whose name had been Harry Potter had admitted to Mycroft that he lacked certain subtleties that most members had in abundance, the most prominent being patience was one of them. The ability to do nothing quietly for hours feels under that. 

So on the nights when Mycroft asked his chauffeur not to take him home, the man had only one alternative route to take, the one leading to the ‘Diogenes Club’. That was at least half the week, more if there was a particularly pressing situation that needed to be dealt with. The green eyed wizard did not bat an eyelash, merely focused on his mobile phone.

“Did you settle the situation with the ambassador, Eyes?” Mycroft asked, earning the man’s complete attention and focus.

“It is Silence today,” came the reply.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “New name?”

“I cannot decide on one I want, so I experiment. The name I’m using today is not bad, perhaps I will keep it every time we visit the Club, seems fitting that way,” Silence replied. 

“You have an odd sense of humour.”

The wizard merely shrugged, “Should I forward the name I use each day?”

“It would be convenient,” Mycroft commented.

“Then it will be done. Also, the ambassador left pleased,” the wizard added.

“Excellent,” Mycroft commented.

Silence went back to his mobile phone when it was obvious the older man would not be speaking again. 


	5. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The first time the raven haired wizard with the faded bolt like scar met Sherlock Holmes was in a restaurant. Mycroft had been having lunch, this time without the politics. He had arranged for his younger by seven years sibling to come to him. He had sent his assistant, who had cheekily informed him that day’s name was to be Broer (which was apparently Dutch for ‘brother’), to bring Sherlock to him. The genius had recognized the car as one of Mycroft’s and got in reluctantly.   
“If I’m going to get to the other side of London, I might as well save myself the cab fare,” the youngest Holmes brother had stated. He was both so similar and so different from his older brother. Where Sherlock was pale and tall and had black curls, while Mycroft was rosy cheeked, a bit shorter than his sibling and his hair had a brownish hue to them. They had few similarities to give away the fact they were related the main one being their overwhelming intellect. Well, they were both not the most social people but Mycroft had learned to hide his distaste for stupid people better than his younger sibling.   
The green eyed wizard had been content to keep his silence during the ride but Sherlock had had other plans.   
“So, you’re one of Mycroft’s?” the question was a bit redundant really.  
Broer looked into dark blue eyes and gave a short nod.  
He missed the way Sherlock seemed ticked off at him for not answering.  
“I bet you are new,” the genius mused. He seemed to study Broer who was doing his best not to react. “Your hands show that you are not afraid of hard work. The way you hold your mobile shows expertise but you slip up every now and then so you must be new to technology. You certainly look physically well, possibly you also work out a lot but the suit hides you, makes you blend in the background, bet you like it that way, being part of the tapestry. I know I’m right,” he adds.   
The car stops and the green eyed man opens the door, stepping out first. He walks ahead of Sherlock, leading him to Mycroft's table where said man's meal had just been served.  
''Eating for two, Mycroft? Is that wise?'' Sherlock asked with an almost cruel smirk.  
‘‘Do sit down Sherlock, half of it is for you; you've lost weight again.''  
‘‘Food’s boring so I don't eat,'' the younger genius responded.  
Mycroft sighed. ''Must you always be so difficult?''  
They shared a glared Broer swore was deadlier than a Basilisk's. The standoff lasted a while and then Mycroft sighed and broke the childish game.  
''Did you get the money mummy wanted me to give you.''  
Sherlock scowled. ''I did.''  
''Do call her soon, she worries, we all do.''  
The younger off the two huffed and stood. ''If that was all then you could have just called.''  
''I did. You hung up on me.''  
''Did I?'' the smile on Sherlock's face showed how glad he was that he had annoyed his brother. ''I suppose I should thank you for an irritating evening,” he said.  
When Sherlock stormed out Broer looked at Mycroft’s flushed face. The man was angry, angry and a bit ashamed and most of all deeply hurt by his brother’s actions. Then the mask that had slipped for just a second was back on.  
“Broer,” he said. “It seems that my brother is unable to join me for dinner.” He folded his napkin, ready to leave the table when the green eyed man joined him at the table.  
“You have not eaten anything since breakfast,” the wizard stated with a frown. “If it’s company you want…” he trailed off, pointedly looking at the man.  
The dishes came then and they started eating together. Nothing else needed to be said.  
￼￼


	6. Overworked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was four in the morning and green eyes were frowning. They were hardly the last people in the building. Everyone who worked with Mycroft Holmes was on standby. The man himself was pale, eyes dark with hollowness and tiredness. Forty eight hours. That was how long they were in a state of alert. All because of one intercepted call that spoke of an attack in London. Every hot spot and monument in London was under watch and his men and women were on alert. The green eyed wizard knew that the staff rotated, working every eight hours but Mycroft did not have that luxury. For as long as they were in a state of alert, the man was awake.

“… and I could care less. Make it happen,” Mycroft said into his phone. His voice hardly betrayed how tired he was as he gave the ultimatum.

“Sir?”

“Ah… there you are _Ares_. I just got off the phone with Guy.”

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” the wizard asked.

“Currently, the latter,” Mycroft sighed. “We are closing in on them.”

“I came with the latest report,” _Ares_ replied as he handed a thick manila folder to his boss. “To sum it up, we found three suspects, members of the core. We managed to confiscate three kilos of C4 and a number of weapons and grenades.”

Mycroft frowned. “Three?”

A text message arrived in _Ares’_ mobile, making the wizard smirk. “Make that four and we have a few more names. It seems one of them was the leader.”

“Better.”

The wizard nodded. It was his turn to frown when the phone rang again and Mycroft picked it up again, speaking rapidly in Pashto. _Ares_ could follow the conversation and progressively he was able to relax. When Mycroft got off the phone, he looked relatively calmer.

“Good news?” the wizard hesitated asking.

“Moderately,” Mycroft replied and turned to his computer as information was rapidly arriving. “We have two more hours to wrap this up _Ares_ and I need your expertise.”

“Who do I need to kill?”

“Nothing as radical my good man, just arrange for a transfer of funds,” Mycroft told him.

“Immediately.”

“Does this mean you get to sleep?”

Mycroft winced. “That bad?”

“If you have to ask…”

“I understand. Thank you for your help. You really did not have to…”

“Thank me when it’s all over,” _Ares_ stated. “Preferably with a trip to the country side.”

Mycroft smirked. “Noted.”

“And then give yourself a few days off.”

“Bossy aren’t you?”

“Well, you earned it boss,” _Ares_ said.

“If only those words were the truth, my good wizard. I will only truly rest when I die.”

The green eyed man snorted. “That’s morbid, even for you mister British Government.”

Mycroft chuckled. “The transfer, _Ares_?”

The wizard snapped his phone shut, his fast fingers had been doing the transaction while chatting with the influential man. “Done,” he reported and Mycroft visibly relaxed.

“I’ll tell the secret services to make their move. The and…”

_Ares_ watched as the man who employed him started giving orders, to him, the army, the secret services, the rest of the personnel and slowly the threat was taken care of. Six hours later they ended the protocols for High Alert First Degree to Second and after nearly two and a half days, _Ares_ greeted his bed with a satisfied sigh of relief.  


	7. Vices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The green eyed wizard entered Mycroft's office. The smell of tobacco hit him. His boss was standing, phone in one hand a cigarette in another and pacing up and down the expensive carpet. He stood still, marvelling at the sight of the man in such an obvious state of stress. This did not bode well for the rest of the day. To have Mycroft in such a state before nine o’clock in the morning meant that someone had made a terrible mistake.

''... And after you finish with the buyout I want a full report about the assets... No, not a penny more than the original agreement... Well then you should remind Mister Cruz that he is not in a position to barter,'' Mycroft declared before ending the call. He then raised the cigarette to his mouth. Soon enough smoke filled the room. The green eyed man’s belief that the day would be trying was cemented. Mycroft had been trying to quit smoking and he had succeeded for a month. To fall back to old habits meant that someone was probably a dead man walking and that he would be in for a lot of paperwork. He hated idiotic people more than his boss on days like this.

“How is the weather in Peru?” the wizard asked, making his presence known.

“Precarious, my dear _Antony_ ,” Mycroft replied, using the name the green eyed man had chosen for that day. It was getting a bit tiring, having to keep up with the name changing but so terribly amusing. 

“Should I lend a hand?”

Mycroft exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Not needed. I have a team on standby. By morning there will be one less aspiring dictator.”

“And two more to go?”

“Rome was not built in a day.”

“A jib at my name? You must be feeling better.”

Mycroft's lips turned upwards, forming a genuine smile. ''It is surprisingly dull; I tried to make it something more.''

“I felt like being dull today. Second packet, sir?”

''Trying day _Antony_.''

''It's barely noon.''

Mycroft grimaced. ''People were surprisingly idiotic today, it called for two packets of these,” he waved his little cigarette around before bringing it to his lips again. “Is the problem that you don't smoke, something I very much doubt, or that you haven't had one yet? Because I am certain that you will soon be as agitated by stupidity as I am.”

_Antony_ grinned. ''The second. It is a public building here, I'm going to try and abide by the law.''

''And here I am, dragging you to commit unlawful acts,'' Mycroft commented, extending his very expensive silver case towards the wizard. ''We have time for one guilty indulgence before we are called to tackle the next crisis.''

“So, you chose smoking? Why not something healthier?”

“Like eating chocolate?” Mycroft asked rather pointedly. He had seen what _Antony_ did when he was stressed. The paper wrappers at the bin had been rather telling and too many for it to be healthy.

The wizard shrugged. “It’s good for serotonin levels,” he replied, a tad defensively and more than mischievously.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow challengingly. “Really?”

“What’s your excuse for smoking?”

“Makes me look sophisticated.”

_Antony_ chuckled. “Honestly?”

Mycroft smiled as another cloud of smoke joined the air they were breathing. The wizard took the case and declined the lighter, lighting the stick with his magic. It made Mycroft arch an eyebrow but other than that, the man did not react much.


	8. Sleuth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical day off a Holmes and a Wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Slow days were so few and far in-between in Mycroft Holmes' busy schedule, a luxury really and a sort of curse, according to the man. This meant they were even fewer similar days in his wizard employee's life. When they came they had to be scheduled till the last second, stolen moments, seldom when they were a few days in a row when nothing would happen, like when there was no major economic crisis in the Euro zone, no bombings in Baghdad, no coups in Africa, just quiet and peace.

Those days Mycroft would not go into his office, instructing his secondary secretaries to manage the mail and workload while he told the green eyed wizard that shadowed him to take a break as well, refill his batteries before returning (because slow days were followed by near apocalyptic incidents that had them busy and sleepless for days on end).

Then Mycroft would retire, either to his town house in London, or the Holmes cottage an hour away from Cardiff (Wales is not very big).(his brother never liked the house and his mother did not care for the weather so the dwelling was always available to Mycroft), and then he would eat and sleep and smoke to his heart's content, read a book or see a movie but never leave home or seek other company, not even that of his brother's. Those were the days that the man that held the reins of the British Government sought some quiet, grabbed the kind of solitude that allowed him to rest his brilliant mind and let down his all powerful face. He could relax and be himself and be certain that no one would take advantage of his quirks and likes. It was his version of a holiday.

Afterwards, when the frenetic workload of his usual, everyday life greeted him after his little escape from the real world, Mycroft was back to his element, back to dieting (and unfortunate by-product of a not very active life and comfort food as a means to relieve stress) and back to trying to quit smoking. It was funny even to Mycroft when he pondered just how ridiculous this ritual was yet the brilliant man would not change his holiday schedule for the world.

During those rare quiet days, Mycroft's assistant disappeared for a while and Harry Potter made an appearance again. He would walk in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, he would see old friends (the very few that stayed behind), seek out his old teachers (a couple that had stayed in their original homes, those who sought out the Muggleborns), spend time with his godson (over phone or other means because Teddy was safe at the other side and still hero worshipped Harry). Mycroft's nameless assistant had an identity again and mostly that was for the sake of others and less for his own. Those days Harry Potter realized that he preferred anonymity, obscurity, being lost in the background, further behind the darkness that shrouded Mycroft Holmes. For Harry Potter vacation time started as soon as he wore his suit, took out his blackberry and stepped up behind Mycroft.


	9. Umbrellas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

They paused outside the store and the green eyed wizard hesitated. He turned to his employer however reluctantly.

"This is it?"

Mycroft turned to his assistant. "Yes _Rain_ , this is the place."

"An umbrella shop?"

"Not just any umbrella shop," Mycroft replied turned the knob, stepping inside the store. Both men ignored the jingle of the bell over them.

 _Rain_ looked around the store. It was narrow and long and it reminded the former Gryffindor of Ollivander's shop back in Diagon Alley. There were many boxes and displays, the smell of varnish and wood assaulting his senses. They were there because Mycroft had a liking for umbrellas. Sure, they made great accessories, especially when it rained, but Mycroft gave it a whole other level. Umbrellas in black (and rarely in very deep navy blue) were what he held whenever he walked or went anywhere. There was no briefcase or bag. There was a day when Mycroft had forgotten his watch, but the umbrella he had taken, much to the green eyed wizard's amusement.

"Mycroft, back again?" the owner of the store smiled heartily at the man who was the British Government.

Mycroft gave an honest smile at the man. Nathaniel Bradfort was a man near Mycroft's height. He was in his sixties and his eyes were dark like chocolate. He was also one of the few people who were not scared about talking back to the eldest of the two Holmes siblings. And Mycroft liked him enough to ignore any perceived disobedience. The man handcrafted the umbrellas he made.

And _Rain_ , as the wizard was called that day, knew that the umbrellas did more than shelter Mycroft from the weather. He knew for a fact that some of them had blades coming out from the tips, a weapon and protective measure in case Mycroft was left without cover. Not that it would happen, _Rain_ thought. The green eyed man was good at what he did and he would protect Mycroft Holmes with everything he had. He shook away those errant thoughts and focused at the scene ahead from him as Mycroft was given a demonstration about the new collection.

The two men talked about patterns and features and how the handle of the umbrella should be in the same way Ollivander talked about wands or _Rain_ discussed guns. It was an odd sight and the wizard thought that this was one of the few pleasures and peaceful pastimes Mycroft Holmes had. It gave a sort of insight to the man.

"Nathaniel, for the hundredth time," Mycroft drawled, "Grey is unflattering. I want to stick to black."

The craftsman sighed. "Maybe the tall, dark shadow of yours can help me out here," he told Mycroft.

"I will take no part in this," the wizard declared.

Nathaniel advanced with a pattern sample book and a smile.

 _Rain_ turned at his employer. "I'm not getting an umbrella," he stated. "Do you have any idea what image we would make if we walked down the street or better yet into the office carrying umbrellas?"

"Like any Londoner?" Nathaniel piped up, making the other two glare. "Fine! Fine! I just thought green eyes here might need some added protection."

"I'm protected enough," the wizard declared.

"And I'll just take the black one," Mycroft announced.

Nathaniel sighed. "But of course," he said while he swiftly hid away what looked suspiciously like purple.

Once they exited the shop and swiftly walked into the car awaiting for them both Mycroft and _Rain_ sighed. Finally the wizard spoke.

"At least he did not try and make us take the red coloured ones," he said to his boss.

"We do not need a bigger target on us," Mycroft declared and _Rain_ nodded.


	10. Near Miss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

They had been leaving Downing Street with the car. Neither of them had been paying any attention to the road as they were both busy making phone calls. Mycroft especially was quite agitated. As much as he dealt with politics, dealing with politicians always left him feeling irritated. His wizard bodyguard and assistant was multitasking again, doing all that he could to save Mycroft time while working from his phone and that was what saved them, his skills. He had been about to turn to Mycroft, giving him a run down of what he had done when he caught sight of it, a glow. Trained to spot a Snitch had been ingrained into him and after so long he had an eye for spotting the winged balls. This now extended for red beams from rifles and spotting things that should not be there, like the errant sniper aiming to kill; his wizard talent reacted fast, using skills and muscles and speed and tackled Mycroft easily to the ground just as an array of bullets pelted the spot they had previously been standing at.

Mycroft was shocked at the sound of gunfire and turned to his assistant and bodyguard with inquiries on his face.

" _Peter..."_

"The building across from us," the wizard replied. "Three hundred yards, up on the twentieth floor, I see him."

Then another rapid sound came and Mycroft was pushed to the ground, his body easily covered by the muscled frame of his green eyed assistant. He felt like a century had passed during which time he could do nothing but wait for the firing to be over and done with, then he would act, he privately vowed to himself and heads would roll. The man who was the British Government absently noticed that his protector jerked at some point and he felt warmth, external warmth. His brilliant mind connected the clues immediately, realising the warmth was blood and the jerk was because the wizard had been shot. He tried to turn, tried to speak, but the wizard, _Peter_ for the day, shushed him.

"I'm fine, keep still," the green eyed man ordered in a calm voice. "They have one more round."

Mycroft looked around and noticed with a sense of detached horror that the usual driver he employed was lying a few feet away in a pool of blood. That several more people were laid out on the street, unmoving. True to the wizard's prediction, another round of fire happened then and nothing. It was the calm before the panic set in and the people all around started screaming and yelling. Sirens from police cars and ambulances filled the air.


	11. The Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft keeps a token to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

**11\. The Tie**

He walked into the building calm and collected but the wizard was not at his side, not that he was unprotected. He was now away from the prone bodies of innocent bystanders, civilians, and the security personnel (not necessarily his own security) that had been caught unawares. He fended of the curious ones who just had to know how many people had suffered, he tried to calm the frantic ones and at the same time reached the meeting he was supposed to be in. Several people greeted him on the way back. Most wanted to know who was the target as there had been several politicians on scene. Others, the precious few that knew the importance of Mycroft Holmes for the running of the country, also knew that he had been the true target of the attack and they worried about him. Mycroft set all of them straight, calmed them down and directed them to more productive things, like their own work and appointed tasks. After all there was a country to run and peace to preserve and that took precedence, even in the face of an assassination attempt.

Mycroft was calm and collected because he had to be. He did not feel as guilty as many people though he would feel or should feel for the people killed instead of him, those nameless strangers or the faces he knew. He had decided long ago, when he first set his sights on the position he had now that if he was to order people’s deaths then he should be able to stomach seeing the bodies, the results of his actions. He had seen dead bodies before, he had also killed with his bare hands before (that kidnapping attempt of his youth that he had escaped relatively unscathed as far as body wounds went, with the blood of his assailant staining his sixteen year old hands) and he knew better than to show how ruffled he was. Weaknesses were not to be shown in public when one was a Holmes or when one was practically named the ‘British Government’.

The moment he was behind closed and secure doors, hours after the event, and in the privacy of his office he had the chance to read the one SMS his sibling had sent him. A few words:

_Still alive you controlling bastard? SH_

He had replied then, texting back because he knew that if he actually called his brother, he would be ignored. No, Mycroft thought that in situations like this he did not need to speak.

_Lousy shots the lot of them. MH_

_Liar. SH_

_Just get something to eat Sherlock._

_You did not sign your text, do so in the future. SH_

_And I do eat. SH_

_Now leave me alone and go back to ruling the world. SH_

After that there had been no need to reply back. Still, Mycroft enjoyed the brief cease fire from his younger brother, the only sign that the ridiculous rivalry with Sherlock could be set aside for a few seconds on an occasion as grim as this one.

And in that precious privacy Mycroft finally allowed the chilling thought of death to seize him. He had changed earlier, tore off his body the blood stained suit he wore, from the jacket to the trousers and the messed up shirt. He had balled those up and chucked them in a bag for the green eyed assistant of his to destroy; Mycroft knew how protective wizards were of their blood. What he had kept on, his refusing to toss away was the tie, the dark blue piece of silk cloth, permanently and forever stained by blood. Sitting on his chair and staring at it made Mycroft remember the wizard’s body on his, jerking as the bullets found an obstacle to their target. He remembered that there were people out there, willing to die for him, for what he represented. He remembered that sacrifices would be made but not all of them were acceptable. He remembered his driver, the man’s two children from the file he had read and the perky wife. There would be actions taken to help the family, he absently nodded. He had planned for such occasions.

His mind went back to his assistant. Then again, some sacrifices, Mycroft thought, were plainly unacceptable. He stared at the tie some more before putting it away in one of his drawers. This one he would keep; a reminder of this day and a warning for the future, privately wishing never to have a repeat of this again, but knowing the futility and naivety of such a thought.


	12. A Matter Of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting even was not his thing. Pride was always another matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He had gotten used to the tender mercies… treatment of doctors and medi-wizards and healers being on his hide, worrying about him and his injuries. He had a lot of time to get used to them as he had met up with death too many times while using various names, Harry Potter, Lord Black, Matthias, John, Sebastian, and now Peter. There had been other aliases, other missions but they no longer mattered. What mattered was that he now how to endure a bullet getting out of him, the graze being healed and the hole in his upper arm closing. Magic could only do so much and he only had Muggle’s at hand. He went to the hospital, just like Mycroft had ordered him, got the talk from the doctors and nodded at all the right points, refused their offers to drug him up and walked out half an hour later. He was a man on a mission and he only had twenty four hours, forty eight tops, to find out who had pointed a gun barrel at his boss, who had gotten so close as to even attempt this.

The green eyed wizard was like a panther stalking his prey as he employed every means he had, magical and Muggle to get his self appointed mission done. He found the sniper relatively easily. A woman called Janine Cold, her real name no longer an issue. She had been employed by an International crime syndicate, money paid half up front with the remaining half after the job was done. She gave him names, actually, he took the names from her mind, _Legilimency_ was a handy skill to have. He did not bother with finesse and subtlety when it was not called for. He left her mind shattered and had no guilt about doing so. He dropped her off at a certain hospital for the mentally ill, a facility that worked closely with the entire staff of Mycroft Holmes. They never asked any questions, just gathered up the presents he left. Whether Mycroft would have them killed or allow them to live on, as vegetables, was not the wizard’s business.

With names and information he set out to track down the real people responsible. It was not a long chain, as he had first feared. And not surprisingly it had everything to do with Mycroft’s position as the British Government and everything to do with a picture they had taken of his boss with one of the politicians they had gotten in their pocket to ease up the elections in a remote Asian country. The syndicate had plans and Mycroft had disrupted them.  The green eyed wizard set to work then rooting out those who had seen Mycroft’s face and knew of his position in the government. He was quite thorough with his work, he had to be. He found out all six people involved in this scheme, questioned them further to see whether they knew something more; whether their plan involved another. By the end of the thirty two hours he had names, plans and all available photos and information on his boss. The clean up was swift and brutal and as a personal bonus to his skills, the wizard made it look like an accident, wiped the memories of those he did not kill and walked away with enough information to blackmail the syndicate should they need to, and they would need it sometime in the future.

He walked into Mycroft Holmes’ office before the forty eight hours ended and the man just arched an eyebrow at him.

“My lord _Vengeance_ , is your work done?” Mycroft asked.

“Read your mail already?” the wizard teased. But as he did so he handed his boss a manila folder, no words outside but the stamp with the words ‘ _D E L I V E R E D_ ’. “And yes, I was successful. All details are inside plus a bonus present for you, for all the … grief they caused.”

“Blackmail material?” Mycroft’s lips quirked.

“Blackmail material,” the raven haired man agreed.

Mycroft nodded. “You are quite thorough.”  
“Compliments again, boss?”

“I’m in a good mood today,” the other man replied. His eyes strayed on the wizard’s torso. “Did you…?”

“See to my wound? I did,” the green eyed male confirmed.

“Good. Now hand me that file, I want to see how useful my present is. And Harry…”

The wizard tensed; the name he had not heard his boss utter in a long while. He had frankly not expected to hear it from Mycroft as the man was quite accommodating of his name changing quirk.

“Thank you,” Mycroft simply commented. “You did not have to do this.”

“Protecting you is my job.”

“Payback isn’t.”

Harry smiled. “That… It was a matter of pride sir. They got too close and it should not have happened.” He grew serious. “And it will not if I can help it. I was remiss in my duties. In the future, I’ll nip this at the bud.”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes,” he said, thinking of the bloodstained tie he had kept. “It had better not happen again.”


	13. Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson Notice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain wizard is not alone in wanting to protect Mycroft Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Being a secretary to an important man was a big deal and at times a tiring and demanding work. Everything had to be strictly organized and predicted, from the time they would get their boss his coffee to the phones he received to knowing when not to disturb, when to lie and when to take initiative. They were always on time, always dressed impeccably, always willing to keep the order of the office. They had no idea exactly what kind of man Mycroft Holmes was, what exactly he did in the British Government. They had seen people coming and going. They knew there were armed guards around. And they knew that before they got their jobs, they had been thoroughly checked. Heck, they were ex military themselves, removed from active duty due family obligations and grievous injuries that did not allow them back out there. Being pencil pushers (there was no other word for it) was not as bad considering there were worst posts to be stationed at. There was enough drama and danger here and enough paperwork to remind them of the army. They did not mind though, not with the pay-check they received. They liked working for Mycroft Holmes though they loathed the man himself when things were stressed out. He had a way of wording things that you just knew that what he asked, was not optional.

What was strange about their work, they had agreed on that easily, was the man who shadowed Mycroft Holmes. Now, That was a man they could not read, even less than the boss. He was slick like a shadow, knew everything they knew and all things they did not and could not even guess. The man was also nameless, a fact they found odd. They had heard Holmes address him with different names on separate occasions and half the time the names were outrageous and obviously fake, all part of the man’s mystery. Ms Cowel knew enough about fashion to tell good quality clothes like the clothes the green eyed man wore. They were expensive and usually no one on public pay-check could afford them. The gadgets he had, that phone of his had to be custom made, Mister Patterson had deduced because it looked nothing like other phones he had seen.

When the shooting happened, they had heard that he had been injured, hearsay mostly, but later, two days later, when the green eyed man had walked in, he looked cool and collected and like he had never been hurt, making the two secretaries not know what to believe. The gossip in the office had a life of its own and speculation ran rampant, even to the point that there were rumours the man that shadowed Mycroft Holmes was a robot. The reaction of the green eyed man to those rumours had been a quirk of the lips as he passed them by on his way out.

“Not staying idle, are you?” he asked quite scathingly, making the chattier and bolder ones blush and stammer. Then his eyes slid towards Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson and cocked to the side. “You two… you were SAS, right?”

They both nodded, wordlessly.

“Hm, keep up the good work,” he commented. “And maybe an eye on that door,” he added. Then he left.

It was how Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson came to the conclusion that the mysterious name changing, green eyed man was if nothing else loyal to the boss. And that loyalty was inspiring as well as the confidence the nameless man had for them when he practically asked them to keep an eye on Mycroft Holmes if all else failed to protect the man. And they would, keep an eye that is.


	14. DI Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DI Greg Lestrade meets 'Silence' and Mycroft Holmes, all in one day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Meeting with Mycroft Holmes was an experience for Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. He had been walking away from a crime scene, Sherlock had long since vanished like the whirlwind that he was, leaving him with many answers even to questions he had not thought to ask (and that had been admittedly annoying and at the same time impressive), when a large black car, as non descript as a luxury car could be, slid up next to him and the window rolled down, revealing a green eyed man wearing glasses, texting away in his phone with a smile in his face.

“Pleasant evening DI Gregory Lestrade, please step in the car,” the unknown man said.

Greg hesitated. He normally would have not even considered the request and not just because of the stranger equals danger factor he was trying to teach his kids, or even the good old common sense he had. But because the tone of the man was the same one his old drill instructor at the Police Academy used, Greg actually stopped to consider.

“It is a pleasant evening, but if you want to talk you could always step out,” the DI suggested. Not eager to get in a car with a stranger. Surrounded by police officers he felt safe and empowered. He somehow could tell that if he entered that car there would be trouble.

“It was not a suggestion, DI Lestrade,” the green eyed man said, finally looking up from his phone.

There was something in those green eyes that made Greg shiver. The door was opened for him.

“Get in,” was the order for the third time delivered in such a tone that the DI knew he could not ignore.

The DI hesitated again and the green eyed man whipped out a card that declared he was from the Prime Minister’s office. It could be a fake, a long shot that one, but Greg could not chance that. He got inside the car and was driven for the better part of an hour. All his questions had been buffered by the green eyed, bespectacled man who kept his mouth shut whenever their destination was brought up; save that annoyingly knowing smile he shot at Greg.

“And what is your name?” the DI asked at some point.

“Silence,” the green eyed man replied.

“You want me to stop talking or… Your actual name is ‘Silence’?”

The green eyed man smiled. “We’re here,” he announced and the car stopped. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Who is he?” Greg asked.

“You don’t want to keep him waiting,” _Silence_ insisted and the DI supposed the strange man would be right. So he exited the car and walked further inside the warehouse he found himself in. It was like the set of a movie really and quite the spooky place but he refused to show how uncomfortable he felt.

Further ahead was the figure of a man, seated in a simple chair, with an umbrella hanging from the backrest, and another empty chair waiting at his side. The man was nothing remarkable really and the smile he had on his face while pleasant was a sign of trouble to come. Greg felt a shiver.

“DI Greg Lestrade?” the stranger asked.

“Yes?”

“Do have a seat. I have matters I want to talk to you about, regarding one Sherlock Holmes.”

Greg tensed. “What about him?”

“I’m a man who worries about him.”

“That’s a shock, why do you care about him?” Greg demanded, a bit defensively on behalf of the antisocial (who was he kidding, Sherlock had no social skill, at all) but terrifying brilliant youth. Lately Sherlock had been pale and obviously not sleeping or eating enough and Greg was of half the mind to seek the kid out. He was also suspicious that the youth was abusing substances but so far could not prove that.

“You care about him,” the stranger commented. “That makes my job easier.”

“And what is your job?”

“I told you DI Lestrange, I worry about Sherlock, like every older brother worries about his errant younger siblings, especially when they are as curious as cats.”

Greg was left staring. “You are Sherlock’s brother? Sherlock has a brother?” Inside he was even more shocked that there were more of them running around London. He felt out of sorts.

“Mycroft Holmes; pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Greg sat in the offered chair.

Mycroft continued to smile. “Now, let’s discuss my younger brother.”

The DI groaned.


	15. Tailored to Fit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"Back again Caradoc?"

"Missed me yet Mr. J?" the green eyed wizard cheekily asked.

The young man, Mr. J to his friends but always James Isaac Bode to his father, smiled, his brown eyes warm. He was a handsome man. Harry had met J out on the pull (only slept together a handful of times till they decided they were best off as friends). Still, J came around the counter and hugged _Caradoc_ warmly, pecking his lips on top of it.

"You look amazing," J commented and the wizard thanked him.

"Break it off you two!" Aaron Bode came from his workshop, looking tired but impeccably dressed in clean clothes. The tailor that made most of _Caradoc'_ s suits and lately an order or two for Mycroft, had no real trouble with gay people and he even liked the raven haired wizard (he was less gruff around him). "This is a business," he stated. "If you want to kiss do so in your time off."

J smirked. "Sure pops!" he said and released _Caradoc,_ before winking at the green eyed bodyguard, who took it all in a stride.

He was ushered inside the fitting room where he was told to strip to his underwear.

"I have everything on your order list ready," Aaron muttered, "Just some final attention to detail here and there."

"I've got time," _Caradoc_ assured the man. It was one of his rare days off.

"Hm, that man the other time, was he your boss?" Aaron asked.

The green eyed man shook his head. "Not really," he lied easily.

"Odd man, just like you," Aaron commented.

"Good odd or bad odd?" the man being fitted asked.

"Still haven't decided," the tailor commented.

The wizard nodded. "Is Isaac joining the business?" he changed the subject.

"Actually, he's taking over the shop. Next time he'll take your measurements, I'll be watching just in case."

"Hoping to retire?" _Caradoc_ asked.

"Well, it's about time really. The missus wants me home," Aaron replied. "All done. You really have not changed much, weight wise," he commented.

"I try to be careful," the wizard replied.

"Go out, drink some coffee, keep your hands off my son; I'll get the order ready for you in ten minutes or so."

The green eyed wizard nodded, amused at the man's reasoning. Right then his phone went off, alerting him to a text message from Mycroft.

_The new bodyguard is an idiot. MH_

The wizard smirked.

_Then stop baiting him. Caradoc_

_New name? MH_

_New Day. Caradoc_

_When are you coming back? MH_

_I need the files about Daisy. MH_

The wizard sighed. He was about to answer as he joined the general area of the shop when he saw just who was waiting there.

"You," the detective spotted him immediately.

"Hello, Sherlock," the wizard greeted.

"You are one of his," the youngest of the Holmes siblings commented with obvious disdain.

"Name's Caradoc," the green eyed man offered.

Sherlock snorted. "I just bet."

"You know each other?" Isaac asked.

The wizard smiled and his fingers worked on the phone in his hand.

"In a way," he said while he quickly typed to his boss.

_Did you know Sherlock and I have the same tailor? Caradoc_

_Is he being difficult? MH_

"Are you texting my brother?" Sherlock rightly guessed.

"Yes," the wizard replied. There was no need to lie and Sherlock would understand if he did so.

The genius scoffed.

J stared. "Are you sure there's no problem?" he asked the green eyed man.

"We're adults, of a sort," _Caradoc_ said. "We can deal."

This time Sherlock rolled his eyes, making the wizard smile.

"You are welcome to ignore Sherlock, Isaac," the green eyed man told the tailor's son.

James blinked. "If you're sure..."

"Oh! For my sanity's shake! Stop pining after him!" Sherlock remarked, making J start and splutter. "I can tell you two slept together! It's obvious!"

J turned to _Caradoc_. "He's got to be joking, right?"

"Not really," the wizard replied. "He's surprisingly accurate, better than a fortune teller without the predictions, based only on evidence and science."

Sherlock and J both stared at the green eyed man.

"He's harmless, really," _Caradoc_ added.

Sherlock took offence to that and the wizard spent the rest of his time trying to ignore Mycroft's brother and keep the peace between him and J. When he finally left Aaron's shop he had a headache and a mental note to keep track of Sherlock so they did not meet up in the tailor's again.


	16. Diet and Other Monday Tasks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"Start," Mycroft asked. His morning coffee was in a cup, steam coming out from it.

Alfred, the name the wizard had chosen for the day, stood with his PDA ready and a mildly threatening grin on his face.

It was a ritual that never failed to amuse the green eyed man, because no matter how much they planned, Mycroft's schedule could never be followed to the letter.

"You've got a lunch date with the Prince today on two. Up until then we have to review our budget. Statterfield is trying to cut us down again and he's being bothersome,' Alfred narrated.

"Statterfield is always bothersome," Mycroft remarked. "Carry on please."

"On five you have to meet your dietician," here the wizard smiled and Mycroft glared him with a warning look.

"Do not look so happy."

"I'm not, happy that is," the other man said. "I just cannot understand your little... habit." It was an obsession really, dieting. He never would be worried about this, not with the childhood he had had and the body he had to maintain. Mycroft, according to his opinion, was fine the way he was, certainly not fat certainly not in need of a diet. "I just do not think this appointment has merit."

Mycroft smiled. "Complimenting me now?"

"How about I just continue reading your schedule? I believe you have quite the day ahead of you, a day that also consists of having dinner with your mother."

Mycroft winced. "Didn't I cancel on her...?"

"Last week? Yes you did."

"Call the florist for me?" the most powerful man in the UK asked with all the dignity of a wet cat.

The green eyed wizard grinned. "Roses?"

"Pink ones, she loves those best."

"I'm on it!"

Mycroft sighed. "You don't need to sound so pleased."

The wizard grinned and said nothing, but that said it all.

"You are getting cheekier Alfred," Mycroft remarked.

"Do you want me to tone it down?"

"Just keep doing your job," the man commented and tried to ignore the amused grin on the wizard's face or the one on his face. It was a slow day, a happy and carefree day, one of the rare ones and he was glad for it.


	17. Getting Ready for the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He counted out loud.

"Fifty!"

"Fifty one!"

"Fifty two!"

He pushed harder to finish his laps. It was still early, five o clock, maybe earlier. He still had plenty of time to get ready for the long day that he would have ahead of him. He stopped at sixty repeats, not bothering with more. He had already had his warm up and now he was pushing himself out of his pool. Kreacher was waiting for him, clean clothes ready to wear after he got out of the shower, a proper and hearty breakfast to eat and to keep him through the day.

"Master Harry should eat," Kreacher grumbled in his own way, worried about the wizard that he was looking after. He had chosen to stay here, in a world most magical had abandoned, sticking close to Harry. The aged creature was one of the few who still addressed the green eyed wizard with his given name, one of the few who knew him as Harry Potter, Lord Potter or Lord Black and not Mycroft Holmes nameless assistant.

It was one of the things Kreacher did not like about his master's new. He continuously grumbled and bemoaned the fact that 'Master Harry' was doing such a menial job, such a thankless job, a dangerous job that got him shot with those primitive weapons muggles liked to use.

Harry listened with a half smile as the poor elf ranted. Kreacher looked like he had taken lessons from Molly Weasley to make his rants. It was both amusing and scary.

"Thank you Kreacher," he told the house elf who merely nodded and went to collect all the wet towels.

Harry shook his head and used a spell to dry his hair, mussing them up. He then sat to check his mail, the one written on paper at least. He got mail, delivered once a week from his friends on the other side, drawings from Teddy and various news papers both from over there and here, magazines too. He leafed through them, with half an interest though not much. Nothing seemed to catch his interest.

"Master's suit is ready," Kreacher announced just as he popped back in the living room.

Harry had taken to having his breakfast there. He had remodeled all of Number Twelve, adding the pool, creating a garden and a sun room and adding all the modern luxuries of the muggle world while still keeping magic around him. This house was one of the few reminders of his past, one of the few blatantly magical places left in the world. Well, Harry mused that the wizards had been unable to move the pyramids of Stonehenge, the muggles would notice something so big and so famous disappearing. It was times like these that he felt well, left behind, by his friends and family, but then he remembered why he had wanted to stay behind. He loved being a nobody to most people. He loved not being stopped on the street, when he went to buy grocery or even underwear! He loved being no one, it was such a relief. While it was not the life he had ever imagined having, he was glad for it and for his current boss, Mycroft Holmes, for being willing to actually have him around him. Not because he was famous, but because he was so dangerous, so damn good at killing. And apparently that was one of the traits the man who was the British government approved as much as his multitasking skills and organizing traits.

"Master?"

Harry blinked and stared at the book Kreacher had readied for him, a book on names actually. It was on days when nothing happened, when he did not have a point to make or a reason to be cheeky with his boss, he would pick out a name from this book or the Internet.

Meanwhile, Kreacher started gathering the empty plates and glasses while the green eyed wizard contemplated what name to pick. He paused at a certain page.

"I feel like being a George today. What do you think Kreacher?"

"Master should be Master and use no other name," the house elf replied like clockwork.

Harry smiled and thanked the house elf. Then he went to get dressed, wearing his tailored suits and leather shoes and silk grey tie that helped put his mask on, the mask of a nobody who just happened to be a 'George' for the day.

He eyed his reflection one last time before he reached for his phone.

_Good morning sir. I felt like a George today._

Mycroft replied fast.

_Morning George. How dull of you. MH_

_I like dull. George_

_Be as dull as you want. MH_

Harry smiled. "Kreacher! I'm leaving!

With a pop the house elf was there. "Have a nice day sir."

When the green eyed wizard left Grimmauld Place he had a new name to face the day.


	18. Humming Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"… _Stars shining bright above you_ _  
_ _Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_ _  
_ _Birds singing in the sycamore trees_ _  
_ _Dream a little dream of me_ …"

Mycroft stared. They were in the limo, heading to his office after yet another long, boring but tense meeting. The green eyed wizard was seated next to him, humming as he typed away, giving all the right orders to the SAS in Iraq. The man who was the British government was pleasantly surprised. The wizard's voice was deep and smooth.

"… _Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_ _  
_ _Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_ …"

The humming was clear and some of the well known lyrics would slip through. It was not bad; he decided after a while and let the wizard continue doing it, allowing the hum to relax him some. It was better than being in Diogenes Club, he absently decided as he focused on the lively city he could see out of the car windows.


	19. Watchful Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The phone beeped and Mycroft's green eyed bodyguard frowned at the sender's name. Early on he had programmed DI Lestrade into his list of contacts. He was to be the go between whenever the DI had trouble with Sherlock. Apparently, the wizard had been frowning for too long because Mycroft took notice.

"What is it?" he asked the green eyed bodyguard.

The wizard hesitated just for a moment. "It's a text from DI Lestrade," he revealed.

Mycroft's sigh was telltale. "What has Sherlock gotten into this time?"

The other man met Mycroft's eyes. "Drugs," he replied and watched the shock and disbelief color Mycroft's face. "The DI had tried everything but he has had no luck. He wants us to interven. Lestrade writes that he has more information for me. Shall I meet him?"

"Yes," Mycroft said, his face unusualy blank. "I want to know everything."

"Very well sir."

* * *

Greg Lestrade had been at his wits end when he gave in and texted the number on the otherwise blank card he had beengiven months ago after he had beeen practically kidnapped by the green eyed man. He finally gave in and called when all his usual methods of trying to get through to Sherlock had failed. He had tried talking to the young genius but Sherlock would not listen to a man he thought not as smart as himself (how a smart man like Sherlock had done such a dumb thing as take drugs when even stupid people knew not to take them, the DI had noidea). Holmes had said he was doing an experiment, smoking first, more hardcore substances later. Lestrade had done as much as he could, he had even gotten on the narcotics' field, busting a number of dealers he knew Sherlock used. he had always been one step behind the young genius and now. Greg really did not want to fid Sherlock with a needle sticking from his arm or in a ditch, that was not the end the youth should have. So he had spend twenty minutes writing the text on his brand knew mobile, detailing as much as he could about Sherlock's predicament and asking for help. Then he had felt out of shorts for the rest of the day up until after his shift ended and he had been heading for his car, still thinking about the brilliant Sherlock Holmes when a vehicle intercepted his path. Teh window rolled down and Lestrade was startled to see green eyes again.

" _Silence,"_ he greeted the man.

"Actually, its _Breen_ today. Please get in, DI LEstrade. We need to talk," teh green eyed man said, being unsusually vocal.

Greg did not stick on details. he did as he was asked and when he was told to speak and explained he opened his mouth and explained everything. he even handed over the files he had gotten on Sherlock, his haunts, his dealers, even the places that sold all the right ingredients where the genius could get the ingredients on his own. It was a thick file and not all that legally put together but Greg had not cared, he still did not.

"Well done," _Breen_ told him, voice grave. "I'll be keeping these for the moment."

"what about Sherlock?" Lestrade demanded. "How are you going to help him?"

"Sherlock... He's to stubborn. Confronting him might do more harm than good," the green eyed man commented. "We will be watching over him now. That is not to say that we would not appreciate if you also kept an eye on him. He is more likely to listen to you."

"Hasn't so far," Greg admitted bitterly.

"Hope springs eternal."

"This is not the time to make jokes, _Breen,"_ Greg sneered at the fake name.

"Frustration will do nothing for us."

"Well, I can't help but feel frustrated."

The green eyed man nodded. "We will act."

* * *

And act they did. For the next month, Lestrade observed as drug busts went up like never before, small fish and sharks alike beeing arrested even for parking tickets. The other officers were at a loss as to how and from who all the tips were comment, but everything was precise and clean and legal so no one questiones. And Greg continued to watch as Sherlock's usual suppliers were brought in. It was effective, he agreed. But he worried how long all this would last.


	20. Spider's Web

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Events like this… It was harder to blend in, fade in the background, no matter how much both Mycroft and his magical shadow wanted to. Their presence in such events was regular. They would eat and drink and mostly they would socialize with the aim to spin a web and draw potential victims in. No one really knew exactly what Mycroft did, not even those that prided themselves on being well informed. But when a duke or the prince (when the last attended such meetings) always visited Mycroft's side at least once to talk and joke with him that was the bait that drew the other insects in. It was a macabre game, the green eyed wizard always thought this, but just the same he watched with morbid fascination how Mycroft worked them to his tune. They needed connections if they wanted to stay well informed and into the thick of things.

The wizard usually adopted the attitude he used to on the parties thrown for his sake after the war. He smiled, he flirted and complimented and did a bit of his own socialising, establishing contacts with various people, from those in charge of the catering and the pianist to the bit overweight daughter of that Chinese diplomat or that timid trophy wife of the under secretary to the American embassy. He never went for the big fish; they had nothing to offer him that he could not get with money. Plus he could not stand the pretentious atmosphere for long and added to that, it was less suspicious for him to not be seen around the big names, those people were better handled by Mycroft anyway; that man could make them jump easily enough and he enjoyed it too.

It was two hours into the soirée that Mycroft managed to approach his employee.

"This evening is duller than I expected," the Muggle man remarked, making the green eyed man's lips quirk upwards.

"Like watching a documentary about wildlife," the wizard commented.

"Two predators in a field of sheep?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh, there are many predators here tonight," the green eyed man disagreed. "It just happens that we are also venomous."

Mycroft's eyes revealed just how amused he was by that comment. He had not thought of it before. He was a predator amongst many but he had to stand out somehow and the wizard's comment was spot on.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered," he finally settled for.

"You should," the wizard replied. "Because at the end of this evening we are walking way much richer than these idiots."

"You found something interesting," Mycroft stated.

"I guarantee you will like my morning report. Now excuse me, the pianist is about to take a break and young miss Patel is scanning the crowd for you. Her father is an oil tycoon, correct?"

"The only plus about her," Mycroft replied. "Wish me patience because clearly I have no luck."

The wizard offered a smirk and they parted ways.


	21. Stitched up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He was at the grocers, early Saturday morning ( Since the magicals migrated he had been doing the outside work, he could not just send the house elf out) when his phone rang. The green eyed wizard paused to consider. It was not Mycroft, his boss was at home currently, preparing to have brunch with his mother. It was not from the office either, no major catastrophe or glitch in his planning. That left one option really, he realised before he even spared the caller id a glance.

"How can I be of help Detective?" he asked Gregory Lestrade.

From the other end of the line the man appeared tired and exasperated and just a bit worried.

"I'm on my way," he said as soon as he heard what the detective had to say already abandoning his groceries and leaving the store.

He arrived at London Bridge Hospital on Tooley Street as soon as he was able to Apparate there. Lestrade was waiting for him at the reception.

"He's the greatest idiot I know," were Lestrade's first words.

"What happened?" the wizard demanded.

"I told you, he was on a case with me, don't ask me why, he just showed up there, took one look at the body and looked like my daughter when facing her birthday present. That said, what should I call you?"

"For today? _John_ will do," the green eyed man replied. "I want to see Sherlock."

"They had to sedate him a bit to pull the glass out."

"Glass?" John asked.

"He insulted the widow when he accused her of murder. What's worse is that he was might as well. We nearly lost her when she smashed a vase to his head," Lestrade admitted. "Sherlock tackled her despite the pain he was in."

"You sound impressed."

"I am, for a lanky guy he's quite fast."

As they neared the ward where Sherlock Holmes was being treated they heard the bickering. Simultaneously they groaned when they realised that the young genius was being his usual unbearable self.

"He sounds fine to me," Lestrade muttered silently under his breath but the wizard heard him quite well. Just as well he saw how the DI relaxed when he realised that Sherlock was going to be just fine. Whether the genius knew it or not, much less if he decided to acknowledge it, he had a friend in the DI.

"Lets us enter then," _John_ told Lestrade.

"He'll be furious I called you," Lestrade warned.

The wizard's lips quirked. "That's half the fun with him."

Lestrade sighed. "You are a weird one, you know?"

"I do, thank you," _John_ replied and walked into the ward.

Immediately Sherlock focused on him, disregarding the haggard doctor that had been treating him and the nurse that was there, looking exasperated at him.

"You called Mycroft dog?" Sherlock shot the DI a wounded look. It was gone the next second as he rounded a glare at the doctor. The wizard saw that the man was done applying stitches. The gash was not dip and it was on Sherlock's arm, not his head, as he had originally feared. Mycroft's younger sibling was bare chested as he sat waiting for the medic personnel to finish and the green eyed man had to frown.

"You're too thin," he commented.

"Food is boring," was the fast reply to his observation. "And you're wearing jeans instead of your usual three piece tailored suits. Having to baby-sit on your day off? Shame on you Detective for bothering this man," Sherlock said in one breath.

The wizard found the skill impressive but he had more pressing matters to attend to. He faced the doctor.

"Are you done?" he asked the man more sharply than he intended.

The man replied positively and handed him a prescription for antibiotics, just in case there was an infection and some pain killers.

"I don't need them," Sherlock said, shooting the prescription an odd look.

"The antibiotics or the pain relief?" Lestrade asked.

John though realised what Sherlock was afraid of. Pain killers like the new the good doctor had prescribed were low level narcotics and Sherlock was really, honestly trying to stay clean.

"You won’t be getting them , then," the green eyed man replied. "Now get dressed. I'm buying brunch, to both of you."

"No need," Sherlock said as he stood.

"I can't let you do that," Lestrade argued.

But the wizard would have none of it.


	22. Smart Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

All it took for Sherlock to agree with the treated meal was the admission that he would be using Mycroft's money. As for Gregory Lestrade, the wizard told the man the truth, that he wanted to pay him back for all his troubles that morning.

"Not even twelve and you had to bail him out of trouble," _John_ said.

"Not literally," the DI pointed out.

"This time," the wizard replied. They both shared a smirk as they recalled a week prior that Sherlock had been locked up when he, in a fit of boredom, sat down with a strange couple in a restaurant and managed to analyse them both, revealing to each other the double life the woman led. A fight had broken out and the genius had ended locked up at the nearest precinct and the DI had been called with the wizard learning about it soon after. Mycroft had been busy and thoroughly un-amused by his sibling's escapades but he had given the money for the bail.

"You're not as funny as you think you are," Sherlock told the two as he turned back to his meal.

 _John_ watched him eat. He had exactly the same posture Mycroft had when eating, down to the quirk he had with his fork when he was chewing, that slight tap on the plate, not enough to even make a sound, like a tick really. The times he had eaten with his boss the wizard had seen the man do this, however unconsciously, yet when they were out with strangers the quirk was absent. It was like this was the Holmes siblings' relaxed way of eating. It was almost amusing, almost. What was even more interesting was the way Sherlock's eyes were taking in everything in the cafe. Like he could not help but observe the giggling girls a table over or the old men sharing coffee and a newspaper, the barista behind the counter and even _John_ and Lestrade.

"What do you find funny Sherlock, because I've known you for a year and I'm still wondering," Lestrade asked after he took a sip from his coffee.

"The fact that the girl that took our orders is having an affair with the owner's wife while also dating the barista," Sherlock replied. "Human stupidity never fails to amuse and exasperate me."

"How could you possibly know that?" the DI wondered.

Sherlock huffed at the police officer and turned to _John._ "Care to give it a try, Mycroft's lap dog?"

"He's got a name Sherlock," Lestrade groaned.

"One he keeps changing every damn time we meet. No one really knows what it is though I bet my not so dear brother knows, he's like me on that matter, can't stand mysteries and secrets. And as I know I'm not to be let in on their private joke yet I won't be bothered remembering every alias he cooks up," Sherlock stated. "And the name I gave him is derived by the description of his role in my brother's life. Quite apt, if I say so, which I do. So, can you guess Mister No Name?"

The wizard smiled. He debated whether he should use the information he had learned when he entered and skimmed over the topmost thoughts of the people around him (a security precaution he had when entering an unknown location so he would not encounter a threat). He could also deduct things without cheating, his mind was sharp and his observation skills had always been even sharper. he decided in the end not to cheat.

"She wears short sleeves and the name on the heart tattoo is the same as the name tag on the barista, plus he looks her like a puppy, lovesick and blind to her faults," the wizard began, enjoying the look of pleased surprise on Sherlock's face. "However, only smiles at him when he tries to get her attention. The rest of the time she tries to catch her boss' eyes. There was one instant when she was passing by and the barista was not looking that he groped her. He's married, wedding ring on his finger is quite obvious, as is the fact that he looks nervous and guilty whenever he does grope her, I'm guessing a first time adulterer. The girl has cheated before, she looks quite giddy doing it. She's in it for the sex not the gifts and other perks that come with dating an older man," _John_ mused.

Lestrade was left staring.

"At least you're a smart dog," was all the praise Sherlock gave.

"Want more coffee?" the wizard replied and got a glare in return, courtesy of the young genius.

The DI shook his head as well, "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Suit yourselves. I better get going, the bill is covered gentlemen," the green eyed man said as he stood. "Sherlock, try not to antagonise people."

"She was the killer," the young Holmes stressed.

"All the same, tact is a wonderful ability to have, work on it, please," _John_ advised before leaving.

As he was exiting he heard Sherlock's last words, almost a whine towards Lestrade.

"Social formalities are tedious and dull," the young genius exclaimed.

"But save you from having vases thrown at you," Lestrade added.

The wizard shook his head and joined the crowd out on the streets. He then took out his phone and texted Mycroft.

_Guess who I just had brunch with? - John_

The reply came quickly.

_Where you pestered into marrying the last spinster in London? If not then you did not spend it with my mother._

The green eyed man smirked. His fingers quickly wrote the next text.

_Sherlock was delightful._

His boss' next text was almost sullen.

_You still had a better time._

The wizard laughed and pocketed the phone as he went about doing his grocery shopping.


	23. Pick Pocket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"That idiot!"

The green eyed wizard turned his head at Mycroft's rather loud hiss. Had it been another but his composed boss, various expletives would have followed but Mycroft just bit his lips and clutched his phone in a white knuckled grip. They were about to meet the Queen for a light lunch. She liked to be informed of the happening in the government and she also quite liked the Boy-Who-Lived. The invitation had come in his given name but the monarch was quite happy to address him by his chosen name for the day, which was  _Donn._

He arched an eyebrow at Mycroft's outburst and his boss sighed and pocketed his phone.

"Trouble?" he asked.

"Sherlock," was all the older Holmes sibling said.

And  _Donn_ understood much from this. It was a quite wide range to cover too, from 'Sherlock got into trouble with the law' and 'He forgot to call mother again' (those two were on par for the Holmes family) to 'Sherlock cause a security glitch of the national kind' and 'he burned down his apartment, again'.

Mycroft caught the inquisitive look his assistant was giving him. "We had lunch two days ago where he actually sat down and ate with me. I should have known," he shook his head.

And  _Donn_  understood. "He picked your pockets," he said, a bit amused. "What did he take? Credit cards? Identification?"

Mycroft scowled. "One credit card and one of the ID's I have to enter military hospitals. And no, I don't carry all of them with me; I just went to visit someone there."

"Not judging," the wizard replied. 'But... Doesn't that mean Sherlock needs money and he's not willing to see your mother to get them?"

"It does, yes," the man who was the British Government admitted.

"So, he sort of asked you for it, without actually asking you,"  _Donn_ offered.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "That boy," he gritted out.

"It's sort of cute, how he came to you for help."

"He picked my pockets."

"And what would he say about this?" the green eyed man mused.

"That I should stop being so dramatic," Mycroft replied. He then took out his phone. "I'm giving him half an hour. After that I'm cancelling everything."

The wizard smiled. "Of course," he replied and handed in his report.


	24. Second thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Slowly but steadily DI Lestrade started seeing his name in the papers, was assigned more cases and was even asked to give a press conference on a smuggling case he worked on. All that was a direct result of one Sherlock Holmes joining in his cases, sometimes even without being asked. He even got a promotion out of all of this and though he knew he did work hard, he sometimes felt like he was cheating. Sherlock Holmes had a scarily brilliant mind and most of the time Greg felt like he was lacking. Not that he was not capable of solving cases on his own. He had four times the bulk of cases Sherlock had joined in on and those had been solved by his merits alone. It was because the flashier ones were also the most difficult ones, where he and his team stumbled and had no leads as to how to continue. Those were also the cases that got him promoted. Like this one.

The Headlines on the paper he was holding were prime examples of that. His name, even his picture this time and underneath praises on how he solved yet another murder. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had tried to make Sherlock understand that he should at least take some credit in his work but the young genius was in one of his funks again were he was interested in nothing but excitement. Murders were too dull for him currently and he had turned Lestrade's calls away. He had a few parting words to give to him all the same.

"Of course credit is mine on those cases and to some degree to you because you actually came to me unlike that idiot colleague of yours, Baisley, now that is one stupid human specimen," the genius had said.

That had been a practical compliment by Sherlock's standards, though Lestrade would have preferred if the genius did not try his hand at breaking end entering, especially in his office at the Station. He nearly got a heart attack when he got there and found Sherlock snooping through his files. Following that he had realised that the man had also stolen his police identification badge. That had been a right headache he did not want to remember.

Briefly he had toyed with the idea of barring Sherlock from the scenes. He could even get him arrested. But quickly Greg had dismissed those thoughts. That would not be possible for numerous reasons, one of which was Sherlock not knowing the meaning of the word 'no'. The other had everything to do with the older Holmes sibling and that no name assistant of his that Greg both liked and hated. No, pushing Sherlock away was not an option. Still, the DI felt conflicted.

A sharp knock on his door drew his attention.

"Body fished out of Thames," his subordinate informed him. "Uniforms are already on the scene and the coroner on his way. Think this will be an easy one? That tall guy, the weird one, won't be turning up, right?"

"I hope so," Lestrade muttered as he stood.


	25. Overdose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was the harsh reality they had accepted when the younger sibling of Mycroft started dabbling in opium and other mind altering substances. The proverbial clock had been ticking and when the alarm finally sounded it did not take them by surprise, not really.

They had been in Geneva when Mycroft's phone rang in the middle of a most important meeting. He had ignored the first call out of habit but when the second one came, this one more insistent than the first, followed after by a very brief message, Mycroft chanced a look at the screen of his phone and tried to stop the trembling of his hands and regulate his breathing. It was ages ago he managed to avoid facial expressions such as paling or flushing. This time it was a struggle do so. Still, he was surrounded by people who were not supposed to see him weak so Mycroft took a breath and fought down the urge to vomit from worry and fear and the sheer shock of it. He met his aide’s eyes and forwarded the message he had received at him. The wizard started making plans immediately. Three hours later they were in London, waiting outside the emergency room of a very exclusive private clinic.

Greg Lestrade was there. Face ashen, clothes rumpled and his shirt collar bloody. It was then that Mycroft's composure was shot and the man had to pause briefly, one hand on the wall. The green eyed man that was just a step behind him, lingered closer. Not offering to help him up but ready just in case his courage left him.

"Greg," Sherlock's brother said.

The officer looked up.

"Oh! Thank God! You're here Mycroft!" the man said, not bothered by the fact that he was called by his first name or that he had used the other man's first name as well.

"How is he?" Mycroft asked. "I've been getting reports from the doctors but it's not nearly enough."

"They pumped his stomach down at the public hospital," Greg said even though Mycroft already knew that. It was an hour since then and Sherlock had slipped into a coma after his overdose. "I followed when he was transferred here. Just in case he woke up. Better have someone who knows him around so that the doctors don't try and kill him, you know how he is."

"I do," Mycroft muttered, now standing closer to the detective and outside his younger sibling's door.

Greg took in his appearance. He was dressed in expensive clothes as usual but his tie was slightly askew, as if he had fiddled with it a lot and Mycroft's eyes were if possible harder than ever.

"Do you want me to seek out the doctor's?" the wizard asked.

"No, I'll do it myself," Mycroft replied. He eyed Greg. "Are you leaving?"

"I called my wife, told her a friend is in the hospital. I’m staying for a while," the detective replied.

"Then I'll get us coffee, maybe something in it too," the green eyed man said and slinked away.


	26. The Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The walls were unlike most hospitals. There were colours, beiges, browns, greens. There were paintings and the floors were clean and the nurses pleasant and the doctors frequent. It was what Mycroft had paid for. Along with his assistant and Greg they had been waiting for two hours. Two long, gruelling hours while Sherlock was still unresponsive. Mycroft had heard everything the doctors had to say. They had done everything they could, given him naloxone to get the brain functioning but so far nothing.

During the wait Greg had shared more details about what happened. Sherlock had been doing drugs with a few friends. Apparently not the good quality either. Of those four friends one died from cardiac arrest, the others were arrested for possession. Greg had managed to do more about Sherlock, calling in favours and such. Mycroft did not have the mood to tell him that he would be awarded nor the mind to think about such things but the wizard was more composed, less emotionally involved and he made note of this for later.

Now the doctors were worried that Sherlock would remain in a coma. His brain function was different than that of other people while awake, but in a coma genius played no part.

It was when Greg had to leave after ten at night that Mycroft addressed the wizard.

"Can you help?" he asked.

"No," was the quick reply. Then the green eyed man explained. "My kind, drugs don't affect us as much, at least not drugs Muggle's use. Our magic metabolises things differently. And if I try and give him potions now I have no idea how his system will react. I could try to forcibly wake him, but an ' _Enervate_ ' is usual for people who are simply unconscious not..."

"Brain dead?"

"He's not brain-dead," the wizard quickly corrected. "Give him time. I bet he's just being stubborn."

Mycroft snorted. "Stubborn even in his coma. Yes, that sounds like my brother."

They fell silent again.

The following morning Sherlock was awake.


	27. Detox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

A plate flopped down to the floor. It was paper. Mycroft had refused to give Sherlock a weapon he could use to fight with. The clinic was very private, rumoured to be very successful and worth more than some stars could afford but Mycroft had not hesitated. The moment Sherlock had regained his senses; the older of the two Holmes siblings had greeted a confused and disoriented Sherlock with a blank, pale face.

"Sherlock."

From his corner, the green-eyed wizard could see the pale form of the younger detective, looking frail and too similar to some dead bodies he had come across in his life. Sherlock, despite everything, had retained brain function because he zeroed in on his brother immediately and with a few blinks of his eyes seemed caught up.

"Mycroft..."

"No excuses this time," Mycroft's voice had all the warmth of the Artic.

The wizard noted that the younger man flinched at the tone.

"As soon as you can be moved you're heading for the clinic I mentioned last time," Mycroft stated.

Sherlock gave a short nod.

"Speak up," Mycroft curtly ordered sharply.

"I will," Sherlock replied.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Mycroft had said and left the door.

His assistant stayed long enough to see the hurt and remorse on Sherlock's face before following his boss out of the ward. As soon as Sherlock's door was closed Mycroft reached for the nearest wall and just stood there, taking deep breaths. For a while he had feared that the usually strong man would collapse. Certainly Mycroft was trembling enough. But then he straightened his back, took another deep breath and pushed away from the door and continued down the hallway, his assistant following a step behind, ready just in case.

That was then.

Now _Asclepius_ was witnessing Sherlock suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Mycroft had cleared his afternoon so he could visit his brother; the clinic had only just allowed visitors for the young genius. The visit had gone ugly as soon as the two brothers faced each other and the wizard had to pull his boss out and call the nurses on Sherlock.

The next day was a new visit that ended with Mycroft not even seeing Sherlock. The young genius was locked in the room, asleep after he had been sick for hours, the fever and the shakes had kept him in agony. Mycroft had just looked into the room at his sibling's sleeping figure before motioning to the green-eyed man that they ought to go.

The visits happened daily after that. Some days Sherlock was awake but refused to see his brother. Other days he was asleep and Mycroft left without a hint of his presence left and the wizard was always there to see his boss look at Sherlock with regret.

On the second week of those visits they bumped into Greg Lestrade as the detective was leaving Sherlock's room with a yelled, "Remember what I told you!" at the young genius.

"DI Lestrade," Mycroft drawled and there was a groan from inside the room.

"Sherlock and I have an agreement, one you need to be aware of," Lestrade told the eldest of the Holmes siblings without preamble. "He stays clean, then he can work on my cases. I have the right to do a drugs bust to whatever place he's staying. If I find anything, his ass is mine, that means criminal record and back in the clinic and no cases at all. What's more, he agreed. If he stays clean for four months and is able to prove it, he can start consulting again. Four months!" he repeated loudly for the genius to hear.

"That is four months worth of criminals!" came Sherlock's loud reply.

"Tough it up!" Lestrade yelled back.

"He's all yours," Mycroft said, with a small smile on his face. He nodded his head at Greg Lestrade and the DI nodded back before leaving.

"Go on in," the green eyed bodyguard told Mycroft. "I bet he's in a better mood now than the last two weeks."

"Half an hour then come get me, we're meeting the Prime Minister."

The wizard grinned. "I give you ten minutes."

"I can keep my comments civil," Mycroft stated.

"He won't," came the wizard's retort.

Mycroft scowled. "You are getting increasingly mouthy." With that he entered Sherlock's room.

Ten minutes later they were in the car and on their way to the Prime Minister.


	28. Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"CIA."

"Again?"

The green-eyed man shrugged. "One request for a consult from NSA as well but I handled that on my own, like you told me."

Mycroft stared. "You forged my signature?"

"Yes."

"Was it ... passable?"

"It was identical."

"..."

"I can do it again, all it takes is a spell and it's ready."

"I know but it never ceases to annoy me."

"I'm still not helping with the paperwork for the natural gas pipeline."

"I'll raise your salary."

"You already pay me enough," was the wizard's quick response. "Besides, if I do get another raise the budget committee is going to riot."

"True," Mycroft conceded. "Once they calm down enough from my next proposal."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"So..."

"I'm going to check on the state of security," the green-eyed man said and left Mycroft's office in a hurry.


	29. Big Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The row Mycroft Holmes predicted with the budget committee happened four days later when the man proposed the installation of cameras on every corner of London and the creation of a system that would put Big Brother to shame.

It was the loudest and most colourful meeting any Holmes had ever been to that was not a family gathering. The insults exchanged were barbed and sharp and when coming from Mycroft, sixty percent of the time the recipients were not aware they were being insulted (the percentage was only because the rest of the time Mycroft wanted them to know he was insulting them). Pens were nearly thrown, glares were exchanged and after a few threats, some subtle, some not so subtle, Mycroft got his way.

“Isn’t this a bit much?” the wizard asked.

Mycroft adjusted his tie after he got out of the boardroom, leaving wounded egos behind, as he headed for his office. “Well, you can bet the police will thank us.”

“For all the cameras. Even those around Sherlock’s residence?” the wizard asked.

“Don’t be cheeky my dear man,” the eldest of the two Holmes siblings said.

“You do know…”

“That Sherlock will find a way to escape my eyes? Yes, I know. But when he does need me, I’ll be only a signal away.”

“That’s…”

“If you say sweet,” Mycroft spat, “I’ll fire you.”

The wizard snorted and kept quiet.


	30. Messy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was Saturday and Number Twelve Grimmauld was not as quiet as one might expect. The owner of the house was up and about and getting busy in the kitchen while Kreacher was standing just outside the door, looking in and wringing his hands with worry at what Master was doing.

And what the green eyed wizard was doing was making a mess of the pristine place. It was one of the few times he got to the house and had enough time to cook something for himself and those days he made enough for two, never forgetting the house elf that waited on him at all times. Today the menu had pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, a salad and a chocolate mousse for dessert. The pots were dirty, plates strewn all over the counters with dirty knives and splashes of gravy and peeled potatoes and dirty towels. It was a nightmare by the time the green eyed wizard finished cooking and took a step back, washed his hands and turned to the waiting house elf.

“So, Kreacher is it dirty enough for you?” he asked the magical creature. “I could make a mess on the floor too.”

“Master has messed the floor, he dripped gravy and stepped all over,” Kreacher said, twitching worse than a mouse, eyes going from his Master to the kitchen behind him.

“So, I’m going to take a shower. You go do what you want,” the green eyed wizard said and stepped out.

Kreacher bobbed his head. “Master is so kind!” he crowed with delight, something that creeped out the wizard.

“To each his own,” Mycroft’s assistant muttered and left a very eager to clean house elf behind in a messy kitchen. Days like these he indulged in Kreacher’s whim to work a bit more than he was currently since it was only the last male Potter in the house and that was hardly a challenge for the last Black house elf.


	31. Molly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The name came up when Sherlock started visiting St. Bart’s with increasing frequency.

Molly Hooper.

Immediately Mycroft had his wizard check everything there was to know about her and the green eyed man did not disappoint.

Molly Hooper just turned thirty. Parents were Michael (63) and Dona (57) Hooper, lived in London. She was an only child. She graduated from Bart’s valedictorian. Currently Molly was employed at Bart’s Hospital, in the morgue. Lived alone. Has one cat, a grey British Shorthair, named Smudge. One relationship with former colleague Jasper Stubbs which lasted four years and ended because he left for Somalia with Doctors Without Borders. There were even pictures of the girl and reports and comments by colleagues and former and current associates. It was all very detailed.

Mycroft glared at _Spencer_ over the manila folder he was given.

"You have her cat's name?" he asked the wizard.

 _Spencer_ shrugged. "Check out her blog and then tell me. It's all pink, flowers and kitties, cute ones too."

Mycroft stared.

"I've already forwarded the link to your phone."

"I just wanted to learn what her connection is to Sherlock."

"Well, she has a crush on him and he's just..."

"Typical Sherlock."

"Exactly," _Spencer_ said.

Mycroft eyed the folder.

"Cats?"

"Cute ones."

"You're a dog person then?"

The wizard nodded, "Always. Cats are way to sassy for my tastes."

Mycroft glanced at him. "Are we still talking about cats or have you heard that ... You know what, never mind. That will be all."

"Of course," _Spencer_ said. "For what it’s worth, Johan in our Interpol contacts is rather cute; you could do a lot worse."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the wizards back even though he wanted to call him back and yell. Honestly, gossip travelled disgustingly fast in the hallways of this building. 


	32. Hide and Go Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Ms Cowel peered up from her screen as Mycroft Holmes stormed past her and Patterson without as much as a look towards them, much less a good morning like he greeted them on most days. Today they could almost see the storm cloud around him. Not a step behind him, the green eyed man followed, but unlike Holmes, he looked amused. She and Patterson shared a wondering look but said nothing.

Once inside the office, the door was locked and wards were up, then the green eyed wizard dared to make a noise.

"That was bold of him, and ingenious," he remarked.

"If I wanted your opinion, _Gideon,_ I'd ask for it," Mycroft said as he took a seat and glared ahead of him.

"Yes, but even you have to marvel how fast he caught up with you,' the wizard insisted.”He was still in the clinic when the cameras were installed. It took him two days to notice them and another three to learn to evade them using alleys and the subway."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "You sound proud that he gave me the slip."

"You are proud despite the..." _Gideon_ trailed off, "Can I call it not-whining and still keep my job?"

"He looked right at the camera, waved and winked and took off!"

"Oh, worried he might be back to his old haunts?"

"No, Lestrade managed to get most of them for drug trafficking and possession so most of them are still in jail. Does not mean Sherlock cannot find another dealer or even make his own."

"I forgot about his chemistry knowledge," Mycroft's green eyed assistant remarked. "But do you really think so? Do you think Sherlock will give up so easily?"

The older of the Holmes siblings scowled, "He already tried to ruin his life."

"I think he learnt his lesson."

"I don't trust him."

"Yes, I think he knows that too," the wizard agreed.

"He has not given me any reason to trust him," Mycroft insisted.

"The big brother thing is a bit much."

"He's going to have to get used to it."

"He's been hiding from your cameras the past two weeks, appearing in front of one only to wave at you."

"Well, two can play that game," Mycroft replied.

The wizard cocked his head to the side. "Game? You know, your family has weird notions as to what is a game."

"You rode a broom chasing after a golden ball."

"Yup, I can recognise stupidity when I see it."

Mycroft glared at him. "Don't you have to train the new security detail?"

 _Gideon_ grinned, "Of course. Shall I tell Ms Cowel to walk on eggshells around you?"

"Just go."

"You're going to review the footage again, aren't you?"

"Go, _Gideon."_

The wizard grinned and slinked away from the office and Mycroft fired up his lap top and logged on to the network he set up, just in time to get a notice that his errant sibling had resurfaced, in the company of a street rat, somewhere near Sutton. Sherlock appeared to be in a hurry and probably he was working on something that caught his fancy, certainly nothing from Lestrade just yet. The cameras followed his sibling for what seemed like a trip through two bookstores and one church before Sherlock lifted his head, scowled at the camera and along with his sidekick slipped into an alley and vanished.

"I hate this game," Mycroft muttered.


	33. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was not often he came across a portal opening but when he did, he would sometimes linger and watch. They noticed him, of course, unless he did not want them to see him but these days he hardly cared. When the magical community uprooted themselves and left, these portals opened every year, around springtime to allow the teams to come, meet the Muggleborns and try and convince the parents to move to their world. Seventy percent of the time, the Muggleborn parents were interested and ended up doing exactly what the wizards wanted, taking their kids and moving behind the magical barrier. The rest of them were not pressed to make it across to the other side but the kids were given potions and their core was dried up, draining the magic till the kids were left squibs and no accidental magic could get them in trouble. It was in some ways barbaric and painful to the kids but if they were not to join the magical community they could not be allowed to use magic untrained. It was dangerous for all parties involved. The wizard known as the Boy-Who-Lived still had mixed feelings about this practice.

It was a Thursday morning he came across one such scene. It was a family of four, relocating. Most of their belongings, car, pets, flower pots. He had been jogging when he noticed the van with the crest from the Relocating Bureau, the wands; the Phoenix and the Pegasus were a dead giveaway. No one else was giving them a second look but the wizard stopped short.

One of the personnel, a woman with blond hair and freckled face noticed him. She was wearing a uniform that could also pass as Muggle clothes, pants and a shirt and an open robe over the ensemble, her wand holster prominent.

"You magical?" she asked him, curious about him until she took in his looks, dark hair and eyes the colour of the Killing Curse. Recognition was immediate. "Mister Potter!" she exclaimed.

"I no longer use that name," the wizard immediately replied.

"Um, I'm sorry... We all knew the rumours but I never thought..."

"Yes, well, sometimes the rumours can be true."

The witch nodded and promptly introduced herself. She was from Ireland, never went to Hogwarts or got caught up in the war with Voldemort but she got a job after the move to the Other World, a job she was mostly content with.

"You could come along, we've got room," she offered him but the green eyed wizard shook his head.

"I know I can cross over whenever I want to," he told her. "But for now, I need to finish up my morning routine, I'm sure you understand." Just then the family came out. They noticed him, of course, noticed the reverence the witch was showing him. The witch's partner recognised him as well but he jogged away before they could make a big deal about it. No one understood exactly why their famed saviour did not want to relocate just like they have. Most of the populace still thought of him as the second coming of Merlin and gave him so much reverence and awe that the young man found it hard to breathe. Among Muggle’s, where no one knew his name, he had no standards to meet, no expectations to live up to, no one to dictate his moves and his life, he was free.


	34. Show and Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The invite to see the new security detail for the Prime Minister was somewhat of a tradition and Mycroft always put in an appearance, especially since his bodyguard and assistant had joined the instructors for the day and was about to be pitted against the new recruits. Mycroft was seated right next to the PM and despite the fact that most people knew who the PM was, their glances kept shooting to Mycroft and the presence he had. On first glance, he was a nobody, but on second glance they recognized the power his position held. No one asked him anything and the PM was thankfully oblivious to the affect Mycroft Holmes had with his presence.

As for Mycroft himself, he was rather interested in the prowess of the new recruits. Most of them were military, a couple from the police force and two, as his assistant had pointed out, were second generation squibs that we unlikely to ever produce a magical line again.

When the signal was given the show began, and it really was a show that told of the skill these people had. It was only hand to hand battles that took place but it was still impressive. _Smythe,_ as the wizard had decided to be known as that day, was certainly among the best of them but not the topmost one. He was fast and light on his feet and he could strategize on the spot. It was obvious from the get go that he was experienced and brute force would not take him down. Another thing Mycroft knew was that _Smythe_ had his eyes peeled open and looking for someone to have Mycroft's back whenever he could not be there. Out of the fifty six people present only seven were women and only five of them were... presentable enough to pass as more than security detail and blend in with the background.

“He’s good,” Benjamin MacFarlane the Prime Minister commented and Mycroft turned his head to look at the man.

“Who are you referring to?” Holmes asked.

“Number seven. He’s lean and fast. Must be strong too.”

Mycroft looked at number Seven, his assistant. It was one of the few times the wizard was out of a three piece suit and his hair was wilder than usual. He was dressed in the navy blue top and grey pants the rest of the hopefuls wore and some of his scars were visible when the cloth rippled and pulled with some of the faster and more brutal moves. He recalled how that lean body felt, covering him when bullets were targeting him. He recalled clearly how the wizard had gone rigid and stiff as the bullets pierced his flesh. And he recalled with clarity the tie he still had in his drawers, the blood, dried blood on it.

“Yes, he is,” Mycroft remarked, watching as _Smythe_ managed to take his opponent down, with great difficulty. Mycroft noticed that his opponent, number forty five was a woman, tall, brown hair and the same cunning in her moves the wizard had showed. 

Then _Smythe_ looked up and nodded towards his opponent, keeping his eyes locked with Mycroft. Apparently, they had who they were looking for.


	35. Assets One: The Wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The alert came the moment the US Minister for Foreign Affairs sent back a reply to the British Prime Minister that he would be visiting. Naturally Mycroft knew before the media, but unfortunately at the same time as an up and rising extremist group. The threat arrived via an attack on the site for the Ministry of Defence. A bomb threat. Potential targets? Twenty four major tourist spots, public building, the subway and the Parliament. It was that very moment every agency was on alert. First priority, keep people from panicking. Second, keep people safe. Third? Find the terrorists and neutralise them, preferably before the US Minister arrive on British soil. The time frame they had to work was a mere seventy two hours. It was a challenge Mycroft Holmes took on a more personal level and it showed in the way he took charge, issuing orders with clinical certainty and detachment. The camera network he had set up was to be used to its utmost potency, all agencies were on standby and police presence on the streets was more widespread.

However there were two assets Mycroft had that he wanted to use to their fullest potential. One was his assistant. The wizard was using what he knew best to help along the investigation. While warding the entire area of London was not an option, not by a long shot, the key locations of interest were already under magical protection from the days Voldemort was active. Mycroft's building, the Parliament and the British PM's residence were protected by powerful wards. Everything else was free game and the green eyed wizard knew it. What he could to do help Mycroft was try and find out which would be the most possible target for the terrorists. It was guess work and a play on possibilities and luck, namely, one branch of magic the wizard did not particularly like; Divination.

Mycroft was a sceptic but he also was a man who trusted results. Magic was real. Fact. Prophecies were real. Fact. The Boy-Who-Lived had a destiny driven by a prophecy. Fact. His assistant was a fully qualified wizard who had failed his Divination classes. Fact.

Yet despite everything they were both at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, a house Mycroft had previously never stepped foot inside. He had known of the place's existence, he had known the location via its Secret Keeper, but had never entered both because of the boundaries between employer and employee and because there had been no reason to enter before this.

"You are going to use divination to find out where the terrorists will strike?" Mycroft repeated and he hated repeating himself, it made him sound less serious than he was.

"Pretty much, yes," the green eyed wizard confirmed.

"I... I don't see how that is possible. Or helpful," Mycroft remarked as he sipped tea from the tea set the house elf had produced for him and his host. The china was fine and the patterns delicate and detailed. It was on par with the tea set her Majesty used. And the tea was of the finest quality. And the finger foods were excellent. Had the situation not been so dire Mycroft would have asked the wizard to share his little helper with him. Perhaps he would make note of it for the future.

"Have some faith," Mycroft's assistant muttered as he pointed to the little black velvet pouch he had in his hands.

"So, tarots, crystal ball?" the Holmes man asked. He eyes his tea cup. "Tealeaves?"

"I can’t read tea leaves, I'm pants at reading the Crystal ball unless I'm concerned and I have no talent whatsoever at card reading."

"Awful way to start, don't you think?"

The wizard sighed. "No, I don't think. Divination has many branches, many uses. Right now we want choices and options, yes or no answers, to narrow the playfield."

"Indeed."

"Then that's what I'm going to do," the raven haired man declared.

"What's in the pouch?" Mycroft asked and the wizard smirked; He had asked for a clear spot on the coffee table and Kreacher had given him just that.

"This crystal I made myself, using materials no longer available to me. Even the string is made of magic. It took me six months to make these," the pouch was emptied in one hand, "They are used to scrye for answers. Ever heard of Pendulum Divination Mycroft Holmes?"


	36. Pendulum Divination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"Crystal balls, tarot cards, numerology, pendulum divination, the Celtic Ogham, Lithomancy, Norse Runes, the Sight are only some of the possible ways to see beyond what your physical eyes are capable of seeing. There are various veils that separate our world into realms. Wizards used one such veil to separate themselves from the non-magicals. That is a space veil. Divination methods try to tamper with time veils and the death veil. Some methods need a natural gift; others just need magically enhanced tools. I was never talented in popular divination methods and never even considered learning until a friend of mine won over a bet and had me try out three methods of divination I was never taught at school. One is Full Moon Water Scrying but full moon won't be for another twenty days and that method is vague and uses feelings and impressions and very, very rarely clear pictures of my objective. It's used to see the future. Then there's Lithomancy, sometimes coupled with rune symbols, sometimes without them. Modern Lithomancy deviates from old techniques. Thirteen stones tossed on a board and used to predict the future and sometimes the past, according to the direction they scatter, how they fall and settle, what they represent. This method is a tad too vague for our needs now."

"Just get to the point. No need to gloat."

"Not gloating Mycroft, just explaining the process. Unlike you and your brother my brain does not leap from clues to conclusions on a whim and your knowledge on magical matters is almost non-existent," the green eyed wizard said.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, a 'get to the point' expression.

"A pendulum is a simple method really and ideal for yes or no questions. Muggle’s trying to play wizards use them, charlatans too. But for wizards like me," he grinned. "I made the crystal on my own. It's like intro to Alchemy for preschoolers. The chain was in one of my vaults. Unlike normal crystals it does not charge in the moonlight but needs a drop of blood every six months."

"You claim that it works," Mycroft said. "Knowing your history I believe divination is of some importance but choice is always a factor."

"When it comes to prophecies, that is the case," the wizard agreed. "You need proof to believe in this method. I can easily test it, all part of the calibration." He held the pendulum up from the free end of the chain, watched it dangle down till it stopped. "When it points to you, the answer is a 'No' but when it is pointed in my direction the answer is a 'Yes."

"You are being a comedian now? Hurry it up."

The wizard nodded. "Am I a wizard?" he asked and the pendulum swayed to his side, indicating 'Yes'.

Mycroft carefully set his tea down on the table. The presentation was far from over.

"Am I a Muggle?" the green eyed man asked and this time the pendulum moved to point at Mycroft, a clear 'No' direction. "Proof enough?"

"Start on the locations," Mycroft told him. "I'll read the list, you pose the question."  
His assistant nodded. "You can start."

"Wellington Arch," his boss said.

"Is the Wellington Arch a target for a terrorist hit within the next ten days?" the wizard asked. The question was more complex than the test questions but the pendulum shifted from its vertical spot, pointing towards Mycroft.

A soft exhale and the motion of a pen crossing out the name.

"Tower of London," Mycroft read.

The pendulum pointed towards the Muggle again.

"Parliament."

The answer was a 'No'."

"St. Paul's Cathedral?"

The pendulum was negative and the list continued, crossing out location after location. All of London's popular museums got the all clear, the London Zoo as well.

"London Eye?" Mycroft read.

The wizard posed the question and this time the pendulum wavered, moving from Mycroft to his assistant and not settling.

"This one is a maybe, I think," the green eyed man said. "They've yet to make up their minds."

"They've got a lot to choose from," Mycroft said and carried on with the list.

The locations were plenty. Soon they had fifteen more possible locations and four blatant positive targets and by the time the list was over Mycroft's tea was cold.

"It's done," The wizard said.

Mycroft nodded. "We had the 'when' and now we have the 'where' as close to it as we can have considering. What I need now is the 'who'. And when I have tangible suspects then I can act," he said. "Patterson compiled a file and distributed the profiles of possible suspects to the usual people. Most of them check out so far."

"But?" the owner of Grimmauld Number 12 asked.

"But I want definite answers and proof. And for that I need a very sharp mind."

"Apart from your own?" the wizard asked, catching up.

An arched eyebrow.

"You know he'll hate it when you ask."

"I don't always visit personally, sometimes I delegate," Mycroft pointedly looked at his assistant.

The wizard sighed. "I'll track down Sherlock."

"Best the confrontation happens at his apartment, more privacy that way."

"Of course."


	37. Assets Two: The Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The tableau was so familiar for a moment Mycroft thought mother would barge in and take each of them by their ear but then he blinked and the familiarity gave way to weariness. He and Sherlock sat on opposite chairs in the youngest Holmes' new sitting room.

"No."

"Sherlock... stop being so difficult."

"No. How come you came to me now?"

"I'm on a very, very tight schedule and I need smart people."

"Your drones not coming through?" the younger Homes asked, making Mycroft frown.

"Sherlock, this is not a game."

"You can't make me play then," the genius shot back. "Where is your assistant?"

"My assistant found out where the terrorists might strike. I need someone who can tell me who they might be."

"Your little camera network not working out?" Sherlock sounded smug and the frown on Mycroft's face deepened.

"You do understand we are talking about people, actual people dying, right?" Mycroft asked, voice calm as he stood, took the file he had left on the coffee table and slapped it against Sherlock's chest. "You will work on this, brother of mine. Or I will make you. I can easily cancel your pass to Bart’s."

"Is this how it's going to pan out?" Sherlock glared at him from behind his thick curls. "Every time you want something you'll blackmail me?"

"Now, now... You know you're in this position because you're being so... difficult. And each blackmail is to be used only once, or else I'd be a common crook."

"No, you're a bureaucrat," Sherlock muttered. "I do this..." he tapped the file," and you leave me alone."

"You do this and you get a pass to Bart’s and the facilities, including the morgue, for as long as you like,” Mycroft countered.

"And I can take out artefacts for research."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "Cadavers you mean."

"Experiments."

"Not entire bodies," Mycroft denied.

"A torso or a leg perhaps fingers or eyes... A brain," Sherlock said.

Mycroft was itching to ask why would his younger sibling need parts of a human body but at the same time he was running out of time. It was like dealing with a terrorist, that's how he felt every time he bartered with his brother. And each and every time he was amused by just how similar they were. If his magical assistant were present he would be rolling his eyes at how both of them were so... unfeeling. The green eyed man knew that while Mycroft was good at his job, he too was like Sherlock, to a lesser degree. How their mother managed to bring out and rear two children who were more or less sociopaths to one degree or another was something someone ought to study.

"We have a deal and you have," Mycroft looked at his watch. "Twenty four hours, thirty six tops, to get me results."

He left the room, not looking back to see the smug look on Sherlock's face. No doubt Sherlock was more amused that the man who was essentially the British Government came to ask him for help. At the same time Mycroft descended the stairs he thought back at the state of the apartment his sibling was staying in. The smells of formaldehyde and other substances had been dizzying. The kitchen was practically a lab and the place a mess of half finished experiments, books, trash and clothes. He absently recalled the last apartment Sherlock had been kicked out of and sighed internally. Perhaps he would ask Lestrade to talk some sense into him, the man had kids, Sherlock could be one when he wanted, Lestrade surely could handle him.


	38. The Network

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He had realized early on that people were better than cameras. Some people could blend in better than others, they were practically invisible, overlooked daily, able to get to places a well dressed tall man with his face could not. The homeless people of London, people of all ages, from various places from all over the world, not just the UK, people that in past lives had different skill sets, people that in their current one just needed a nudge, a bit of help, or plain wanted the money he offered them.

One such person was Carl. Medium height, slim, quick on his feet and even quicker with his hands. He had been the one to teach Sherlock to pick locks and pick pocket. He had been twelve at the time and Sherlock had been eighteen. The genius had not tried to convince the boy to seek help; he knew a hopeless case when he saw one. What he did do, was nudge Carl to a direction that would benefit them both. He put the idea of a network in the boy’s head and set him loose in the streets of London. A week into it, he brought four more people to Sherlock’s doorstep. Annie, age sixteen, working as a prostitute and a pickpocket, whatever she could to keep from getting hungry and cold. Jason, Annie’s younger brother by a year. Both of them had been eager to help Sherlock when he told them that from every job, they got a fee, finder’s fee, for information. Then there was Jonny and Mark, both from West London, both had done some time for petty theft at one point and now at age seventeen worked cons to make ends meet. They were the inner circle so to speak of Sherlock’s network. Over the years more were added, but those were the original ones, the only ones that had direct contact with Sherlock when there was no need to be extra discreet. They were fast, sneaky and never let the young genius down.

He met with Carl in an alley behind a bakery, carrying with him copies of the pictures Mycroft had put in his file. The list had been long and he had divided the twenty five pictures into groups.

“What’s this?” Carl asked, taking the envelope.

“I want you to make sure these pictures make the rounds in the network,” Sherlock said.

“Who are they?” Carl asked.

“Some potentially dangerous people,” the investigative detective said. “So be extra careful. I just want you to locate them and send word to me. You don’t get extra if you follow them around and… they might carry weapons.”

Carl nodded. “Mafia guys?”

“Terrorists,” Sherlock replied.

Carl nodded again. “Usual fee?”

“Of course. Those that locate them first get the fee. And Carl? I mean it, no need for heroics with these people.”

The younger man snatched the files. “How long do we get?”

“Twenty four hours at best,” Sherlock replied and Carl sighed.

“We’ll try, see you back here?”

“Same time tomorrow,” Sherlock nodded and walked away.


	39. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The arrest happened at three after midnight. The police and Special Task Force units had surrounded the house, closed off the entire street to do so. Mycroft was in his office, lap top set up to watch the operation take place. Next to him, Sherlock was looking and feeling rather bored.

“Why am I here again?” the younger Holmes asked. “Your office is rather boring by the way, duller than the persona you sell to your… let’s call them colleagues.”

“Missing the clutter of your apartment Sherlock?” Mycroft drawled. He zoomed in on the scene. “The captain gave the signal. All of them are seemingly asleep. It’s the best bet they’ve got.” He picked up his phone and texted his assistant who was on site, overlooking the progress and ready to intervene the moment Mycroft had new orders for him.

“How big was the threat?”

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock’s question. “Pardon?”

“How many people would they have killed?”

“Hundreds,” the man who was the British Government replied. “They had planned to hit places all over London at rush hour.”

“And could you tell me how you know where they would hit?” Sherlock asked. “No one in the streets new what their plans were. I tracked them down with the help of my informants, and by tracking the trail they left while shopping for the supplies they needed for the bombs. Their families are in the dark, their colleagues, everyone. Yet you could tell where they would hit and those that saw them loitering recalled them and their strange behaviour.”

“Sheer luck,” Mycroft responded.

“Luck?” Sherlock repeated with disbelief.

Mycroft shrugged.

“You are hiding something from me,” his brother said, suddenly more interested than he was a few minutes ago.

The older Holmes sibling just glanced at the screen as the operation unfolded. There was lots of smoke and a flurry of movement as the window was broken and gas thrown in the house, then the door was brought down and the teams moved in.

“And I bet it’s something big,” Sherlock mused.

“Bigger than you imagine,” Mycroft replied just as his phone buzzed.

_We have them. House secured._

“Your pet?” Sherlock smirked.

“We got them,” Mycroft replied.

“Then I can be on my way, cases to find, murders to solve, I hate getting bored,” Sherlock said and swept out of the room.


	40. What a Nice Young Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

“Morning Mrs. White.”

The sixty something year old woman looked up and grinned at the young man that sauntered inside her shop.

“Why, hello green eyes,” she smiled at the thirty something old man. She had grown accustomed to having him enter her shop on weekends, sometimes only on Sundays, order some coffee or tea and a snack. Sometimes he chose to take them and leave, other times he would have newspapers with him to read, in languages she had no idea existed. He was always polite too, with a ready smile to give. She had seen him help Mrs. Bingley cross the street. He had helped that new girl from Scotland move her things up to her new apartment. He would sometimes sit with old man Rogers, who used to be a soldier during World War II and he would let the man talk and relive the old days. She had seen him wearing expensive three piece suits like the folk that worked at the City, and gym clothes soaked up in sweat. Mrs. White never saw a briefcase on him, never saw anyone accompanying him.

The one time she got in a spot of trouble he had offered to help her.

In the thirty or so years she had her shop it had happened once or twice, thugs wanting protection money from the bakery. When her husband Wilbert was alive, he would take care of them and they never bothered her afterwards but now her bones were frail and her sons and daughters lived scattered across England. She had no one to turn to. After one such transaction (the brutes had the gall to walk into her shop during (the (the brutes had the gall to walk into her shop during Sunday and ask for her hard earned money). When they had left, she looked up and saw green eyes piercing her. He stood up then, walked up to her and leaned closer.

“Good day Mrs. White?”

“Not the best, young man,” she returned voice barely cracking.

“Want some help with your rat problem?” he asked voice level and light.

That had made her look up right then. “Are you…”

“I work for the government madam,” the green eyed man replied, giving her a jovial smile that no pencil pusher had ever given her when she filed papers for her pension.

“I could use some help, yes,” Mrs. White replied.

“Excellent!” the young man told her. “See you next Saturday.”

He saw her when he said he would. Right before the brutes marched in, pale and shaken and bringing back her money, apologizing and walking out. They never came back and that was months ago. Mrs. White had her doubts that the green eyed man worked for the government but what she never doubted was how nice he was to her. So what if she always gave him and extra piece of her treacle tart? He seemed to like it and could use some meat on his bony frame.


	41. Anthea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He had read her file long before the little show they had to put up for political reasons. She was one of the seven women suggested for the spot. Her name was as common as his own, Anna - Teresa Martin, age twenty eight, born and raised in London. During high school Anna was average at school work but excelled at sports and on the side she hacked government accounts, never got officially caught but she had been tagged and she knew it, that’s why she quit toying with the law. She lost her best friend during Voldemort's uprising and during one of his most public attacks on Muggle towns; it was what made her want to become an officer of the law. She graduated the police academy and then went ahead to join Special Forces. Her record was clean after that, save for two counts of assaulting fellow team members. It was just the one man, the wizard nodded, twice, for grabby hands. He got reassigned; she got to attend the show and tell on just the right time.  
During the fight she showed just how far ahead she could think and how she could disregard her safety to meet an objective, but not just rush foolishly in. She would be a perfect bodyguard for Mycroft, would not take any offence to his sharp tongue (the man never curbed his tongue but was not a chauvinist either).  
They met in a café. The wizard had never really liked the off white corridors of their offices. She seemed taken aback by the choice in location.   
“Am I really hired?” Anna asked.   
“Yes, you were the one with the most promise, that I could tell.”  
“And what am I hired as? I’m not a bimbo you need to look pretty.”  
“No, but that is a plus. People underestimate you.”  
“Like I underestimated you,” the woman muttered and he grinned. “What is your name?”  
“Salvatore,” he replied with a soft smirk.  
“Really?”   
“No, I don’t really use my true name any more.”  
“Security reasons?” she asked.  
“Hm… No. It’s just better this way. More fun too.”  
“What name do you use then?”  
“Why, Mrs. Martin, how curious you are.”  
“When I find an envelope with a job offer and so much fine print, I have every right to be curious.”  
He leaned back on his chair, sipped some of his tea and then addressed her again. “How did you like the fine print?”  
“Loved it.”  
“Chosen a name yet?”  
“Anthea. For this month at least. Or whenever you want to address me and not use my real name.”  
The wizard grinned. “Perfect.”


	42. Code of Conduct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Usually he gave training the newbie’s to other personnel, but this one he would need to work closely with and deep down he did not trust Mycroft's safety to just any random person. The wizard knew the woman had made the cut physically, but he wanted her to understand what was expected of her. Because he was not just a bodyguard for Mycroft Holmes, the man that was essentially the British Government. He was also an assistant and a weapon and a shield for the crown as well as the state. He had his own set of rules that he followed, mostly because they were convenient to him and his work. It was a mix of Muggle military and his old Auror squadron's code with a flavour of disobedience when the situation called for it.

He regarded the woman seated before him, in his office which was next to Mycroft's but smaller and bare since he rarely used it. She was quiet and attentive as she listened to the rules he dictated.

 _"_ Number one: while on the job, who you are does not matter. You have no name, no personal clues, not even personality. You are supposed to be a nobody, blend in, make them overlook. You are nameless and faceless.

Number two: we are supposed to help Mycroft Holmes be at his most productive. We screen calls, deal with the unwanted issues, check security and spy on the office workers. You are to know everyone by name, face and able to tell when someone does not belong here.

Number three: You get to baby-sit Sherlock, everyone must at least once.

Number four: Sherlock is Mycroft’s brother, no shooting at him no matter how hard he makes it not to do so.

Number five: never, ever let Sherlock pick pocket your key cards. We do not want an international incident on our hands.

Number six: never, ever let Mycroft take a call from Madam Holmes, his mother. He will be moody all week long.

Number seven: wear shoes you can run with

Number eight: careful who you invite back to your place. Leave no work related items around. Better yet DO NOT take work home.

Number nine: do not tell your family, friends, lover etc who you work for.

Number ten: will be added soon enough.”

Anthea read the rules a second time and hummed under her breath.

“Any questions?” the green eyed wizard asked.

“Basically we’re secretaries but with guns,” Anthea commented.

“And we actually get to use them.”

“I like that,” she said.

“Good. You start immediately. I’ll introduce you to the people on this floor and Mister Patterson and Ms. Cowel will show you around. ”


	43. It's All In The Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He had not meant to look, he really had not, but his ears picked up the gossip first and then his eyes followed. His wizard assistant's pet project, the newly renamed Anthea, and Ms Cowel were returning from their joined lunch with other office workers and Mycroft just happened to stand by the lifts, waiting for the elevator to arrive when he heard the not so subtle whispering those two plus Madeleine from the front desk and Joan the PM liaison were engaging in.

"…and those tight fitting pants…"

Mycroft's ears picked up the words but he did not pay them any mind until…

"I'd love to be his tailor!"

Followed by giggles.

Now, there were only two people in the entire floor that wore tailor made suits. One was Mycroft himself and he doubted the ladies were discussing his… assets, and the other was none other than his green eyed assistant. Now, he was usually above overhearing conversations without strategic value and participating in gossiping but he could not help but strain his ears to listen more.

"And did you see him when he bent over the other day?" Ms Cowel was asking. There was giggling, mostly from Madeleine and Joan.

"He is in a very good shape," Anthea agreed and Mycroft nearly found himself nodding. He knew what the ladies were talking about. The green eyed man was quick to help whenever he was needed, not turning up his nose whenever some subordinate needed help with a security matter, or even with a technical issue. A few times the man had shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and helped carry files for, or a piece of sensitive equipment (the IT department still gushed about how the man helped with the trolley that carried the equipment that jammed bugs). The wizard in his slacks and vest looked quite distinguished and apparently the ladies had noticed.

"I'd love to pinch him and cop a feel," Joan admitted. "Have you? I heard from Mark down the hall that you two spar," she mentioned to Anthea.

"I've never groped a sparring partner," the woman replied, "Nor am I going to do so now, no matter how tempting the target."

The 'ping' of the elevator made Mycroft blink and focus on the doors opening in front of him. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, he stepped inside, wondering if all their conversations focused on his assistant and his assets. If so, at least he did not have to wonder about the leaking sensitive information. Still, their chosen topic was stuck in Mycroft's brain for a while after that day.


	44. I was in the Neighbourhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was an idea/prompt by readaddict123 on 01-06-2013. The idea :Something happens (like a murder, etc) in #11 or #13 Grimmauld Place and Sherlock ends up finding out where Harry lives when he goes to talk to the neighbours to see if they saw anything, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

There is something to be said about going out for groceries and coming back to a crime scene being sectioned off just before your front door. London’s finest were there, sirens blazing, tape cutting off the traffic and curious neighbours were all out there on the street, making the grocery carrying wizard stop short. Normally he would just make himself invisible and sidestep all the ruckus but he recognized at least two people in the crowd of uniformed officers and forensics personnel.

Sherlock was easy to spot, tall with curls and an expensive coat. He was engaged in a shouting match with a slightly shorter man in scrubs and a police jacket while DI Lestrade was hovering nearby looking like he had a migraine and its name was Sherlock.

“Hey, you! Why are you loitering here?”

The wizard stared at the woman, looking from her shoes to her curly hair and a bit of extensive application of lipstick and then back up to Sherlock and the other two men, who were now staring at them. Body and argument forgotten, Sherlock strode towards him, looking visibly curious. Lestrade was only a step behind him.

“Well, well, well, fancy seeing you in the neighbourhood,” the genius said, taking in the green eyed man’s attire (casual jeans and a shirt with a jacket over it, dark colouring in everything), the grocery bag and the phone in his hand. “You stay here? In this neighbourhood,” Sherlock stated, looking ecstatic.

Lestrade stopped right next to Sherlock, looking at him with shock and weariness. “Is everything alright?” He eyed Sherlock. “There’s no…”

“Relax Lestrade; he’s not here in his official capacity. He is staying somewhere on this street,” the genius said, looking around.

“Holmes!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Anderson,” he said the name as if it was a vile word. “What do you want? I told you that man was killed by his mistress because he was unwilling to leave the wife. I don’t know why you called me in for something so boring,” Sherlock accused the DI, who then rolled his eyes.

“Listen… Um, what is your name?” Greg asked the wizard.

“ _Marc_ ,” the green eyed man replied, enjoying the frown on Sherlock’s face.

“How… unremarkable,” the genius said. “Where you feeling bored today… _Marc?”_

“Somewhat yes,” the wizard replied.

“Excellent, you don’t mind having me over for tea then? I could use something warm,” Sherlock said. “Where do you live? Number eleven? Thirteen? Ten? Fourteen?”

 _Marc_ grinned. “Actually, it’s Grimmauld Place Number Twelve, I own the building,” he replied and the four people in front of him frowned.

“Twelve?” Lestrade asked, turning around. “Huh.”

Grimmauld Place Number Twelve sat between numbers eleven and thirteen like it had been there all along. Lestrade frowned but let it go, stirring a disgruntled Anderson back towards the body. The female officer shot Sherlock a look and walked away. As for the young genius, he was eyeing the building with suspicion. He then looked to the wizard.

“That was not there before,” he said carefully, eyes pinned on _Marc_ with suspicion and a hunger. He had just been presented with his newest and most interesting puzzle and knowing Sherlock, he was not going to let this go.

“How about that tea then?” Sherlock said and led the way to number Twelve.


	45. Something about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He kept an eye on _Marc_ the whole time. He observed as they were let inside the house, the door opening on its own accord at a touch from the green eyed man’s hands. Entering the house was an experience for Sherlock. The house was old, the whole neighbourhood had buildings that were two centuries old easily but while renovated this was an old place. The floorboards, the furniture, the expensive paintings, the silver pieces that decorated the surfaces. They passed by a room with only a fireplace and room to hang coats and umbrellas, a dining room big enough to hold thirty people seated, a study, a library and two sitting rooms that his mother would have easily approved of before coming to a third sitting room. This one was a tad more modern, with leather sofas and armchairs, a fireplace with the fire crackling and a tea set for two waiting. There were bookcases all around and pictures scattered around. One had the green eyed man, _Marc,_ with the Queen in this very house.

“Interesting,” muttered Sherlock.

He turned around and saw his… host, sans the grocery bags and the jacket.

“Can I take your coat?” _Marc_ asked, extending his hand for it.

Sherlock nodded and shrugged out of it, handing it over and taking a seat. “This tea was just poured.”

“So I notice. Great luck, isn’t it? Have a biscuit with it; they’re fresh from this morning, almond I believe.”

“You had your phone on you, you could have texted your butler. I assume this building has one. Five floors, most of them uninhabited because you are a bachelor, no way this house is taken care of by you.”

The green eyed man smiled. “With my pay check? A butler?”

“Don’t try to stroke my ego, it’s obvious you’re old money,” Sherlock told him, sipping from the cup. “Expensive tastes in tea.”

“I can indulge,” was the quick reply.

“What did you do for the crown for her Majesty to like you and for my brother to trust you to have his back?” Sherlock asked.

“I killed a man,” _Marc_ offered, he had hung the coat and taken a seat across from Sherlock, looking rather sombre about his admission.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “I can believe that,” he conceded. Like he could believe that the man across from him was a war veteran and not a killer that took lives for the fun of it. No, this man needed cause and even then would not take a life lightly. He could not be much older from Sherlock, certainly younger than Mycroft. While the UK had troupes sent to the Middle East and Africa and with the NATO forces, nothing that could explain this nameless man. Sherlock knew that Britain did not have children soldiers, one thing even Mycroft and his black heart would not abide by. Yet the green eyed man had all the clues indicating a trained individual. “Why didn’t I see the house before you mentioned there was a number Twelve?”

“Must have slipped your mind.”

The genius frowned again, recognizing that he was being taunted. He hated being taunted. The man was not making fun of him per se, but he knew exactly what Sherlock was talking about and keeping quiet about it, obviously amused by his confusion. There was something here, something simple yet remarkable that was bound to answer all the questions Sherlock was accumulating as he spent time in the sitting room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Who was this man that Mycroft chose as his assistant and bodyguard and clean up man? In the pictures there was no medal, no uniform to showcase exactly why this young man knew her Majesty well enough for her to visit him here. There had been trophies and medals in the study they had passed by but Sherlock knew that he would not get to snoop, not in this house and with _Marc_ present. And he also knew that he would find it difficult to break in or have one of his people break in. He would have to make do with scraps of information too disjoined to make an accurate deduction.

“You’re enjoying this,” Sherlock accused him.

“Hm, a tad, yes. Much better than the ‘Hide and Go Seek’ game you and Mycroft are playing,” _Marc_ remarked. “What can you tell me about me?”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and sat comfortably. “Old money, old title, perhaps two even. This china set had a crest with a wolf and stars but the vase with the blue hibiscus near the entrance was entirely different and much, much older. The crests are distinguished, at least three centuries old. I’m thinking one title is Barony and the other a Lordship, which is which escapes me at the moment. You are a war veteran, don’t deny the obvious. Which war though… Or was it not a war fought outside this country? I never really made any sense of those terrorists a while back. The police and the government were tight lipped about the whole thing. After a year of terror everything stopped and they announced the terrorist cell was rooted out, the leader dead and the accomplices in jail. I’m guessing that’s when you met the Queen and how Mycroft learned about you. You are an orphan, probably raised by relatives, no parent would allow their child to be trained like you were and the opulence makes me think you were not in the system,” Sherlock stated. “How am I doing so far?”

“Spot on,” the green eyed man said.

“But this is only the surface.”

“Yes,” _Marc_ replied, making Sherlock huff.

“I will find out,” Mycroft’s younger brother said.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at some point you will.”

“I hate your attitude.”

“But you like the puzzle I presented you with,” the man countered.

Sherlock stood. “Thank you for the tea.”

“I’ll escort you out,” _Marc_ said and that was the end of Sherlock’s visit.


	46. Dead End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

To Sherlock’s disgruntlement, Mycroft’s shadow had been honest when before parting ways wished him luck and told him that he should focus on other things and not expect to see the house again. The genius had found the comment odd until he visited the street again, after his network got back to him that there was no Number Twelve. At first Sherlock thought they were yanking his chain but a cab drive later he was standing in the middle of the street, between numbers eleven and thirteen. He stood there for ten minutes, closing his eyes and opening them again and not once did number twelve pop up. He did not see _Marc_ or _Broer_ or _Silence_ (he had talked to Lestrade about that bit of kidnapping incident yes) or whatever name or word he used to identify himself for the day, not once in the one month he had the place stalked. Some of it he did himself so he knew that it was not just skill that hid an entire building and the man owning it.

So he went a different way, he asked around about the subject of his irritation. He asked the neighbours, the shop-owners, the old people playing chess in the park across from where Number Twelve should have been, he asked about the green eyed man around the offices downtown in London and a contact or two he had in the army. The answers he got frustrated him more than helped him.

Mrs. White down at the corner bakery that also doubled as a café for the neighbourhood had told Sherlock what a nice man the green eyed assistant was and how she once heard Mr. Albert from Grimmauld Number Five call him Rupert. Mr. Albert told Sherlock all about _Rupert’s_ skills with carpentry and how the green eyed man helped him fix his bookcase after his house was broken into. After that he had case after case of Mycroft’s assistant helping people, however directly or indirectly, around the neighbourhood, across the city, across the country. His few contacts at the military turned up empty handed with just a suggestion that maybe the man was in Special Ops, something Sherlock could not check on just yet. Not one of them knew the man’s real name and in some cases, they did not even know his real face. It was getting annoying.

After two weeks of snooping in the middle of other cases, some from Lestrade, some from people that read his blog and came to his doorstep, Sherlock finally appeared before Mycroft when his older brother was having lunch at Momo, a restaurant serving Arabic cuisine, having a meal complete with a starter, main course and dessert. He had a spare plate and a smug look on his face when Sherlock came into the restaurant and made a bee line for his table.

“Do you need something Sherlock?” he asked.

“Very funny, Mycroft. You do know your assistant has me stumped?”

“Yes, I gathered that,” the man replied, continuing with his meal. “Would you like something to eat? The menu is excellent. I believe you have visited once or twice? That case you had with the widow and the thieves?”

“I know you read my blog.”

“I also comment on the articles.”

“Who is he Mycroft.”

“Not my place to say brother,” the oldest of the two replied. “He told me he gave you a puzzle to solve though he did not divulge the details.”

Sherlock glared at him. “There is a Number Twelve at Grimmauld Place.”

“Has been for the last three or so centuries,” Mycroft confirmed. “The house of the Ancient and Noble Blacks. The direct line is extinct I’m afraid.”

“Sirius Orion Black was the last member; I checked the registry once I tracked down the crest. There was a manhunt issued for his arrest but two years later there was a small announcement that he was innocent and killed during the terrorist attacks,” Sherlock referenced what he had read.

“What do you need from me, Sherlock?”

“A name.”

“You know I won’t give it to you.”

“Then what am I missing?” the functioning sociopath demanded.

Mycroft smiled. “If I told you then that would be cheating, brother. You’ll figure it out, eventually. Now… Lunch?”


	47. The Curious Case of Mrs Hudson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Her name came up related to one of Sherlock’s cases just around the time the youngest of the Holmes siblings requested a passport. The paperwork was all ready, what remained was the approval for it and since it was Mycroft’s brother the request was immediately sent to Anthea’s Blackberry.

“ _Odysseus,_ what should I do with it?” she asked the wizard.

“Approve it,” he had readily replied.

“But why would he need to cross the pond?” Anthea asked.

“For a case he took,” _Odysseus_ replied.

She blinked and asked to see the case. Apparently Mrs Hudson had asked for Sherlock’s help when her first floor flat kept being invaded by all sorts of unsavoury characters, her words. Sherlock met her a week before he took the case after being kicked out of his former residence for a number of complaints (playing violin at all sorts of hours, strange fumes coming from the apartment, strange noises and low level explosions wrecking the kitchen, the door being torn off three separate times due to one of Sherlock’s cases were only some of them). Another thing was that her name was not actually Hudson. That used to be her maiden name before she married Neil Turner and moved to the USA with him for a few years before coming back to stay in London permanently after ten years of marriage to him. The reasons were sketchy but apparently Mr. Turner had at one point being thought guilty of being a serial killer. It was Sherlock who offered to help her when she mentioned that Mr. Turner had been released on bail due to lack of evidence. Apparently she thought her husband guilty and wanted him locked up. What she said to convince Sherlock Holmes the man was guilty; Anthea could not find it in the files.

“She asked him to help keep him out of prison?” Anthea asked.

“No,” the wizard grinned. “She asked him to help convict him.”

Anthea blinked. “But that means that if Mr. Turner gets convicted he will be given the death penalty in Florida.”

The green eyed man nodded. “That’s right.”

“And Sherlock thinks it’s a worthy cause?” Anthea asked.

“He certainly seems to find her request unusual and not boring,” _Odysseus_ remarked.

She frowned. “So we’re setting Sherlock loose in the US?”

“Oh, no, he will have someone watching after him. Now is hardly the best time to cause an International Incident,” _Odysseus_ commented.

“So, passport and visa?”

 _Odysseus_ nodded. “Mycroft has people he knows over at CIA, we’ll have everything ready by tomorrow,” he said and hurried away, sending her the contact numbers she needed to call and settle everything.


	48. 221b Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The conviction of Mister Neil Turner cemented Sherlock’s spot in 221B Baker Street in Mrs. Hudson’s eyes. The Scotswoman was rather grateful to Sherlock for all the help he had given her. It also helped his case that the woman, now a widow, liked when Sherlock played the violin. The young man was always punctual in his rent payments and the sort of stuff he kept in the freezer  were not quite as horrible as the whole bodies Mr. Turner used to keep in their attic.

“Really Sherlock? A head?” she had ‘tutted’ the second time she was driven to clean up the mess that was Sherlock’s apartment.

“I wanted to see the rate of deterioration to heads while they are kept in home freezers. It’s for an article I’m thinking to publish,” the genius had replied.

“That’s all nice dear but do dust the place from time to time,” she had told him. “I’m your land-lady, not your house keeper. And I noticed that the fridge is empty. When will you go grocery shopping? Honestly young man, what if you have guests over? Tell you what, I’ll make you a sandwich in a bit and bring up some tea if you play a bit of music for when Gladys and Molly come over for tea on Saturday.”

“I’ll be glad too, Mrs. Hudson.”

“So polite,” she said to herself and walked away, leaving Sherlock to his own devices.

The current one? The functionally sociopathic detective was trying and succeeding to unearth all the bugs his older sibling had placed around the house.


	49. Bugged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He appeared suddenly when they were replacing the bugs around the living room for the second time in a month. The first time the bugs had lasted fifteen days. The second, three hours. Sherlock was sharp like that and Mycroft stubborn enough that he wanted them replaced immediately. His male assistant had told Anthea so and sent her on her way, with a new team and a smug grin on his face. It would be her first face to face meeting with her boss’s brother and she had dreaded it.

The moment he stepped into the room, glaring at them like they were lower than the dirt that started to settle on the cluttered surfaces of the room, face scrunched up in distaste. Inwardly Anthea was cursing the lookout that had sworn Sherlock had left on foot about twenty minutes ago to meet up with Lestrade for a murder case some half an hour distance from 221B Baker street. Apparently the lookout had been wrong or Sherlock’s network had informed the genius who came back, if only to taunt them for their incompetence. Within minutes Sherlock had deduced that Gordon had been drinking again because apparently his wife left him, that Mike had a newborn kid hence the black circles under his eyes and that Alan was having chemo for a few weeks now. He then turned to her and seemed to recognize her stance and the way she carried herself.

“I liked the green eyed lackey more,” Sherlock remarked, making Anthea look up from her phone and smile.

The door slammed again and Sherlock’s roommate let out a shriek of shock and fear. He was a med student and he had not even heard Mycroft’s people come into the apartment to bug the place, something that slightly unsettled Anthea. She knew from older files that one of Sherlock’s older roommates had been sent to the hospital when somebody from the Triads broke into that apartment, looking for Sherlock. Said genius arrived just in time to take down the intruder but late enough for his then roommate to need a three week stay in the hospital. That had been roommate number six (“Not counting the roommates previous to Sherlock’s stint in rehab,” Mycroft’s green eyed assistant had remarked making Anthea wonder about the youngest sibling of the two).

“I think he just found the toes at the sink,” the genius muttered.

A few minutes of banging doors and heavy steps a man with Asian features and carrying suitcases came down the stairs, glared at Sherlock and stormed out of the place.

“I need a new roommate,” Sherlock muttered with a sigh. “No one understands sacrifices must be made for science.”

Anthea arched an eyebrow and did not comment on that.

“You can tell Mycroft that I’m on the search for a roommate again,” Sherlock told her. “He can send his less favourites to me to break. He seems to find it amusing to make them my babysitters.”

Anthea stayed silent and he nodded.

“Nice talking at you,” he said. “Lock the door on your way out and …. Well, I’ll get rid of the bugs again so… do what you will,” he put on his coat and closed the door behind him just as Anthea sent a text to her direct superior to convince him this was a lost cause and a waste of equipment and time. All she got back was a smiley face which made her groan.


	50. The Cookie Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Everything from the carpet to the ceiling was clean and covered with expensive pieces and furniture that had so much history one could not help but be intimidated. They usually met in parlours like this one, private ones, older than the newly redesigned spaces in Buckingham palace, parlours her Majesty usually reserved for private use and ones that never had been seen by reporters. The china their tea was served was new as well, a gift from the Emperor of Japan. The green eyed wizard had commented on it and her Majesty had confirmed it.

“The Potters used to do business with Okawachiyama Village from sixteen seventy to just a bit after the nineteen fifties,” the wizard had commented before offering the Queen one of those China sets his family owned, complete with the Potter Crest. Apparently he had several collecting dust in one of the Mansions somewhere in Scotland.

After that the talk had been a mix of light-hearted chatter about various topics and giving the Queen their report about the happenings around the country and around their sphere of influence. Since the attack a few weeks prior everything was quiet and she seemed glad about it. Her heartfelt gratitude towards them was nothing new though it made Mycroft wonder what would Sherlock say about it. His brother had to know about this side of Mycroft’s position but the young genius had yet to comment on it. Or the cookies he had passed along the last time his sibling had unwittingly helped him out with a case concerning the Palace.

“Have another one dear. They’re too fresh to go to waste.”

Mycroft smiled behind his cup as his assistant was forced to put yet another cookie (ginger and lemon with a touch of cardamom) on his plate and thank the monarch for trying to stuff him with food.

“And you Mycroft, still insisting on that silly diet of yours?” the woman asked him, tone scolding.

“Perhaps one more cookie, these are after all delicious,” Mycroft conceded and picked another one from the tray. He tried to ignore the mutinous look from his assistant as her Majesty focused on him again.

She was acting like his aunt, whenever the wizard visited, always worried about his health and his diet. He could see why too. Despite the muscle and the abilities, once he blinked those green eyes most women looked ready to hide him and cuddle him. Perhaps it was instinct from their part to recognize traumatized kids and try and nurture them. Perhaps the wizard’s harmless outward appearance was getting too good. Whatever it was, Mycroft did not overly care, as long as he got to witness scenes like this one because he was of the opinion that the younger man was getting too serious. Nothing wrong with being coddled once in a while behind closed doors.


	51. Kidnapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

His tail lost him. That was the very reason they did not realize something was wrong immediately. Mycroft had insisted that for this case, his sibling needed a few eyes all around the clock on him. The case was on behalf of someone Sherlock used to know from his teen years, a friend of their mother’s. She ended up in one of Lestrade’s cases, being charged with diamond smuggling. Sherlock had promptly told Lestrade that Angela Eccleston was innocent and that the sixty five year old woman had been framed. The DI asked him to prove it.

Mycroft was at the Diogenes Club, enjoying a cigar and a glass of cognac when the alert came to his phone.

_Sherlock MIA_

He put out the cigar and rose on his feet. On the outside none of his movements or his expression betrayed his urgency and worry. No one looked up but his abrupt leaving was noticed, he knew. Mycroft’s assistant was waiting for him at the entrance, face grave.

“ _Timothy.”_ The ‘Report to me now’ was implied but not voiced.

“Anthea registered that there was something wrong,” the wizard promptly informed his boss as they set off towards the car. “He ditched his tail sometime between two and a quarter past two today somewhere between Blenheim Crescent and Cornwall Crescent. He was meeting an informant in the general area.”

“Who was on to him at the time? What did the camera’s find?” Mycroft demanded as soon as they were in the car and heading to the offices.

“It was a three man team and they were all dealt with, reprimanded and put to other posts,” the wizard responded. “Anthea is managing the cameras and she already found leads. Sherlock was spotted at the Revival Church on Lancaster Road. He entered the church. We don’t know who he met with but he was spotted again exiting White City station from where he took a taxi. We talked with the driver, one Steven Deas, age fifty three. He claims he was asked to take Sherlock to Grosvenor Road, by the river. We confirmed that Sherlock reached the Millbank Millennium Pier. That was around twenty past three. That’s when his phone signal stops.”

Mycroft rubbed a hand over the bridge of his nose. “Do we have any leads? At all?”

“The tracking charm I had on his phone‎ tells me that the phone is in Thames, in front of the House of Lords,” the wizard offered.

“And the one you have on Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

“Now, this is where it gets interesting and disturbing. Apparently who ever took Sherlock, managed to access one of the magic blind spots that are all around the city.”

At this Mycroft frowned. “Blind spots?”

“More like zones the magical used to occupy. The magical zoo is right next to the actual Muggle zoo but the spot it occupied before the divide was a spall area we then enlarged and charmed to remain hidden. The area itself is one of the areas where magic is still alive and thick and it makes tracking charms fail.”

“And how many such areas are all over London?” Mycroft demanded.

“Twenty five,” the green eyed man replied.

“How many accessible by my people?”

“All of them if I have my say. As soon as you give me the signal I can start looking for him.”

The car stopped in front of the offices and the assistant exited and opened the door for Mycroft before stepping back and following behind the man until they were up on their floor. Anthea was waiting for them, her face blank.

“She stays with you,” the wizard told Mycroft who nodded.

“Just go,” Holmes said, “Bring him back.”

The wizard nodded and swiftly walked away, he had a detective to track down and it was a race against time. Sherlock had a unique ability to anger people and that was bound to cut down on the time his kidnappers would want him around. A brief stop at his house to change out of his suit and into the clothes he wore when he was on missions and then he was off, checking location after location. The blind spots, all twenty five of them were scattered across the area. If a Muggle was actively trying to find them they would not be able to do so, but if a Muggle stumbled across them then they would be able to return to those spots easily. If the kidnappers were using one of those locations then no one else but a wizard would be able to find them. The charm _Timothy_ had on Sherlock’s items (his coat, his phone, his house keys etc) and on Sherlock himself was still active; he would be able to tell the moment he entered the immediate area he was held.

He was on location number seventeen, a pier at Thames Haven, and in particular one barge, near the old Magical Harbour. He had never really been here but at some point Luna had come to take a cruise ship to the Bermuda Triangle. The closer he got to the barge the stronger the signal became.

“ _Point me, Sherlock Holmes_ ,” the wizard using the name _Timothy_ said, wand out and held loose in his hand.

He guessed the outcome before it happened. The wand pointed straight at the barge. The green eyed man smirked.

“Found you!” he whispered and turned invisible. He had a sociopathic genius to save.


	52. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He did not need magic to complete missions; his training was vaster than that. But having that extra boost helped immensely. Being invisible when entering a location was easier with a simple charm to make people overlook him. He passed three people this way. He noticed the radios on their belts and the weapons on their waists as well as heavier guns that were held in their hands as they walked up and down the barge. There had been two more at the pier but their guns had been holstered and out of the way. The wizard had not bothered incapacitating those five, not when he realized they often used the radios to give update reports. What he did do was carve small runes along the way. He timed them to go off at the same time. All he had to do was activate one and all others would follow. Their results would be to cast a web much like a sleeping charm around the area, incapacitating the Muggle’s a different set of runes could blow up this place to smithereens but this was not that kind of mission. Not yet anyway.

Entering one room he found an office type of set up, complete with maps of London’s areas, locations circled in red markers. There were guns in here as well as explosives, money and extra radios. With gloved hands he started checking the various cabinets. He only raised an eyebrow when he spotted several small velvet bags in a few of them. The bags were strategically hidden behind duffel bags with clothes, inside a pair of boots. Those cabinets had been locked but a simple _‘Alohomora!’_ popped them open. He picked one up and overturned it in his palm. Small rocks fell in his palm.

“Uncut diamonds,” he muttered. He picked each of those bags up and placed them in the pouch around his belt after casting a spell to duplicate them and put them back to their proper place. They would be needed as evidence by the police. He would replace them as soon as everything was over and Sherlock was safe, for now he kept them.

He moved on, carving the sleeping rune twice as he passed five more guards until he came across a larger room. There were six people inside, counting the man looming over Sherlock’s form. The younger of the Holmes siblings was seated in a chair wearing his trousers and his shirt. His shoes were removed as well as everything else. There was gash on the left side of his face, bleeding sluggishly. His lips were split and his right eye was bruised badly while the same cheek was puffed and swollen. The shirt was open, showing his torso. There were small cuts across the pale skin. The sleeves were also raised and the wizard could see the knuckles were bleeding heavily. A red patch was staining his stomach area, blood was pooling there and it was spreading fast. It was possibly the most serious injury the detective had sustained. Sherlock had fought and he had fought hard before he was overpowered. Or was he tortured that much? When the genius was forcibly jerked awake again with a hard punch, _Timothy_ was furious to realize that most of Sherlock’s state happened in the four hours he was held hostage. 

Just like that he decided that he had seen enough. It was time to intervene and get Sherlock out of there. Pressing his wand tip to the rune he had carved, he muttered, “ _Dormire!”_ almost inaudibly.

The six people standing in the room fell on the floor unconscious as the rune system flared, taking the group of them out. At the same time he cancelled the spell that rendered him invisible as he approached Sherlock’s form. The genius was a mess from up close.

“Sherlock?” he tried tentatively.

A groan of pain was his answer. A pair of eyes raised and tried and failed to focus on him.

“Mycroft’s,” was the whispered response.

“Yes, Mycroft sent me,” the wizard replied even as he took out a phone. He pressed one, calling directly to Mycroft’s private number.

 _“What is it?”_ his boss barely let the first ring finish.

“I’ve got Sherlock,” he promptly said. “He is a mess. I’m taking him directly to the hospital before I come back to handle the clean up.” He said and hung up.

“How?” Sherlock demanded even as his rescuer cut loose the ropes with a tap of his fingers. The genius was so out of it that his brilliant mind did not register the lack of equipment or tools.

 _Timothy_ held onto him as Sherlock slumped forward with a pained groan.

“What matters is that I’ve got you,” the wizard said and with a touch on Sherlock’s temples he rendered him unconscious.


	53. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

When he came to his senses he registered that his surroundings had changed from a barge in the Thames to the same hospital he had been taken to when he overdosed on drugs. The figure of his brother, sitting at his bedside, eyes on his phone were also rather familiar.

“Mycroft.”

The man that was the British Government looked up. “I’m going to call the nurses and tell them you’re awake.”

“How long?”

“Two days. Knife wound to the area of your stomach, thankfully no penetrated organs. They had to operate immediately. Your hands are going to be sore and there was a concussion so there might be headaches still and nausea,” Mycroft immediately recounted the most serious injurious his sibling had sustained.

“They knifed me when they tried taking me,” Sherlock promptly supplied.

“We guessed that much,” his brother replied.

“I think your nameless puppet came for me.”

“He did.”

Sherlock glanced at him from one eye; the other was swollen and ugly and he could not see from it yet. “Interesting. Him and what army?”

Mycroft smiled serenely. “He’s a one man army on his own. He got to you undetected, didn’t he?”

Sherlock fell silent. “How soon can I get out of here?”

“A week the least. You did go into surgery, Sherlock.”

“I need to close up my case.”

“Don’t worry,” Mycroft replied, “It’s been taken care of as we speak. I believe DI Lestrade is about to receive a package as we speak, fifteen or so men that are all part of a diamond smuggling ring, complete with the diamonds in question, a number of unregistered firearms and fake identity papers.”

“And who gets the credit?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, DI Lestrade should get a promotion. It’s about time isn’t it?”

Sherlock huffed.

Meanwhile across town Lestrade sat; Dick Stuart sat across from him in the interrogation room. Lestrade received a text two days before, requesting his presence at the pier where the diamond smugglers. They were all unconscious and handcuffed and a note was pinned on the empty chair Sherlock was previously tied to.

_Dear DI Gregory Lestrade,_

_Consider this a treat from Sherlock Holmes. He found the evidence you requested concerning Angela Eccleston’s missing diamonds. These gentlemen were also responsible for the kidnapping and stabbing and torturing of Sherlock Holmes who is currently in a private clinic recuperating. All evidence is in cabin number two, missing diamonds included, as well as a small armoury._

_Have a nice day,_

_Timothy (for the moment)_

The DI read the note again and smiled. He had a pretty good idea that it was Mycroft’s people who rescued the genius (that green eyed man that kept changing his name was probably the one that did it). He briefly frowned because he had no idea Sherlock had been missing in the first place or that the case involved guns as well. He felt bad for challenging the genius to find clues that resulting in him getting harmed.

“Sir?”

He turned to look at Sally Donovan. She looked around in a bewildered look. A glance at Anderson showed that the man was not in a better state either.

“Let’s wrap this up people. Shame to let a present go to waste,” he ordered and that got the officers moving.


	54. Elections and Other Woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Mycroft frowned as he checked the file. Malaysia had just finished with their Parliament elections last month and he had kept an eye on them. He did the same for Pakistan, Bulgaria and the Philippines, just in case. There were many business ventures that depended on the political stability of those countries. May had been quiet a busy month and June was proving the same. He turned to his assistant.

“Nauru, Switzerland, Bhutan, Albania, Mongolia, Guinea and Qatar,” Mycroft read. “Where on earth is Nauru?”

The green eyed man smiled. “The Republic of Nauru or formerly known as Pleasant Island is in Micronesia, South Pacific. It’s south of the Marshall Islands. Nice place if I recall well. Went there for vacation five years ago. Took some pictures at Buada Lagoon.”

Mycroft stared. “You had time for vacations?”

The wizard smiled. “Want me to keep an eye on the election, notify you if anything unusual happens?”

“Yes, do that,” Mycroft said. “I will be at Switzerland.”

“Anthea made the necessary arrangements already,” the green eyed man informed his boss. “Are you sure the outcome will be to your favour?”

The smirk he got in return was the epitome of smugness. “Have you learned nothing yet?”

The wizard rolled his eyes. “I know the outcome will benefit us, whoever is the winner but what of the fate of the project?”

“Hm, the new legislation will benefit us,” Mycroft replied. “Even if the funds are not approved the project will carry on, rest assured of that. Now, you said something about a meeting with the Prime Minister?”

“Yes, something about Military funds,” the wizard replied, checking his notes. “There are rumours that Brigadier McCauley is receiving bribes. As of yesterday I have evidence that the rumours might have some basis in reality after all. I left the file with Patterson.”

“Any idea who does the bribing?”

“Nothing concrete yet but there is talk of a new criminal organization rising. There have been reports of similar situations in Eastern Europe and Northern Africa.”

“The case back in February?” Mycroft mused out loud. “Yes, it is possible that there is a connection.”

“Want me to look into it?” the wizard asked.

“Not yet, there are far more urgent matters to tend to but still…”

“Keep feelers out, just in case. And an eye on McCauley?”

Mycroft nodded. “No, nip this in the bud. Have McCauley dealt with now and make sure the replacement is impervious. We don’t need trouble with the military right now. What’s next on the agenda?”


	55. Madam Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He found her seated by one of the tables with window view. Her face had a starkness to it as she enjoyed her wine and glaring at the waiting staff whenever they approached. She seemed not to fit with her surroundings; how she practically vibrated that she was old money, from her pearls to her dress and the way her hair was done in an elaborate updo. She looked stunning and cold. But then again Wynnfrith Holmes always looked like that. Her tongue was sharper than Mycroft’s. Her mind was fast and brilliant and her sons took that from her. She was also diagnosed as mildly sociopathic at one point but her acting skills were better than Mycroft’s and her ability to blend in far better than Sherlock’s. She loved getting underestimated. It was how she became so formidable. Her husband, Theodore Ignatius Holmes the Second had been comfortably well off but it was her mind that made him brilliant and his fortune multiplied within five years of their wedding. Children came later in her life, after she no longer could put it off and before it drove her husband to another woman in search of heirs to the Holmes name and fortune. She married for prestige, love had always been secondary and beneath her notice but she cared for what was hers and her husband and sons were her own to protect. They were the ones that she usually spared, usually.

“Mother,” Mycroft called as soon as he was within her hearing range.

She turned to look at him, piercing pale blue eyes pinned on her eldest. “Mycroft. You’re four minutes late. And tell your lackeys to send fresh flowers next time you cancel on me. And not hyacinths again, those are funeral flowers and I’m still alive, much to your misfortune I bet.”

He bit his tongue briefly before offering a smile her way. “I see you’re in a fine mood today,” he remarked as he kissed her cheek, something she demanded of her sons every single time. She smiled briefly at him for this and watched as he took his seat across from her.  “Was the drive here pleasant?”

“I hate coming to London,” Wynnfrith replied. “And this place… Restaurants these days,” she shook her head in distaste while her son pondered whether he should get drunk or not.

“Yes, well, I come here on occasion and the food is fine,” Mycroft commented.

She gave him a sharp look. “Well, you do seem thinner,” she remarked. “I bet it’s either their portions or the quality.”

Mycroft smiled. “The wine is excellent at least.”

“Only passable,” she replied and Mycroft smiled again.

“Let’s just have a quiet meal,” he told her.

She frowned disapprovingly at him. “How is Sherlock these days? Are you two still fighting?”

“Sherlock is… He’s fine, working with the police.”

“Still playing detective that boy?” Wynnfrith said with distaste. “And you are a pencil pusher for the government.” She shook her head. “Where did I go wrong with the two of you?”

Mycroft wisely kept his mouth shut. Antagonizing her just was not worth the headaches or the retribution she would get.


	56. Paws in a Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He had just been passing by the shrubbery when he noticed the cardboard box and heard the whimpers. He never listened to music while he ran, he wanted to be aware of his surrounding at all times and music would not let him know if someone was trying to sneak up on him. The motto ‘Constant Vigilance’ complete with the capitalized letters was his life nowadays so it was no surprise that he approached with caution. The moment he was close enough to peer inside the box a smile formed on his face. The inside was filled with papers, some shredded, some bunched up, and four puppies were huddled together and trembling.

“Merlin,” he muttered.

The green eyed man reached inside the box and pulled out one of the furry puppies. It’s fur was a soft white colour with patches of darker fur. He could tell then that it looked like a golden retriever but it was obviously a mixed breed. He placed it back with its siblings before reaching for another and confirming that all four of them were mutts essentially. When one of them licked his fingers he nearly cooed at it. He loved animals and he had a bit of a soft spot for dogs, mostly due to his godfather’s Animagus form and Hagrid’s Fang. The wizard knew that if he left them out here chances were they could starve or get separated. He stared the puppy right into its dark eyes and felt the wet nose sniffing at his hand again.

“Kreacher is going to absolutely hate this,” the wizard muttered even as he placed the puppy back with its siblings and only to pick up the whole box in his arms. Perhaps later he could find homes for them to stay, with regular families, ones with kids even. But for now, the little guys (or gals because he had no idea about their genders) were coming to Grimmauld Place with him.


	57. Mercury, Artemis, Hades and Apollo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was Mycroft that noticed the dog hair but he did not comment on it at first. He let it go on for a few weeks before clearing his throat one Thursday afternoon on their way back from the Parliament.

“So, a dog person, with proof this time around,” he remarked, making his assistant look up.

 _Vlad_ (lately he had taken to using names from popular fiction and Vampires in particular and every single time Mycroft felt the need to roll his eyes) stared for a bit. “Do I still have dog hair? Kreacher is usually rather… particular about cleaning everything.”

“How many?”

“… Four.”

Mycroft stared. “Four balls of fur and drool and mess?”

“They were adorable, I could not resist them.”

This time Mycroft really did roll his eyes. “To know that you are efficiently lethal yet four puppies manage to move you… If your enemies could hear you now.”

“Yes well… They’re golden retrievers. Mixed but…”

“They have the trademark fur?”

“Artemis and Apollo are spades. Hades is paler and Mercury has patches here and there,” the wizard replied, earning another look.

“Ancient gods names? Really?”

“Matching ribbons too, a colour for each puppy,” _Vlad_ replied, enjoying the wince on Mycroft’s face.

“Four dogs.”

“Yes well, I like the company,” the wizard shrugged and Mycroft sighed and let the matter drop.


	58. Kreacher’s Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Kreacher was shining the Black crested silvers in the second sitting room, the one with the plush velvets in purple hues when he heard it. A small yip. The house elf straightened his back and clutched the cloth he was using hard. He had every intention of going back to his polishing when it came a gain, a second yip, followed by a whine. Kreacher turned around and he saw them, all four of them, sniffing into the room in a tangle of awkward limbs. His eyes rounded as he inched away. His Master had brought them home one day in a box (the house elf still scrunched his nose at the mere thought of it!). For a while all they did was demand food and excrete foul substances while whining and keeping odd hours and the slobbering … Oh, the slobbering! It was everywhere, just like the fur, on all the nice duvets, on the cushions, on the furniture… Kreacher did not mind the cleaning up after them; he had helped raise late Master Sirius Black after all and he had not been a nice boy growing up, not at all.

The house elf gave wide berth at the puppies. They were all collared and they had a tag on with a name on it. Master had been quite amused when picking each of the animals and slipping the collars on. He somehow found time to play with them and help Kreacher raise them (the house elf suspected Master used a Time-Turner for it) and tried to train them not to chew on furniture (the first time Kreacher caught Mercury chewing on the green room’s ottoman he was nearly apoplectic) and not to do their business all over the house. There was liberal use of magic involved in the taming and training of the four legged beasts. Kreacher eyed them with distrust when they started sniffing around the room.

“Shoo! Shoo!” he kept saying, trying to make Apollo back away from him. 

Hades sneezed when he approached a stronger sniff of the cleaning supplies, Artemis bumping her head to his side before trotting away to play with Kreacher as well. Mercury sniffed around before he slipped out of the room the same way he got in.

It was then that the sole wizard of the house walked in, carrying Mercury in his hands and smiling while the puppy licked his fingers.

“Kreacher? Are you done?” he asked. Almost immediately the puppies left him alone and sauntered over to the green eyed wizard.

The way the house elf sagged with relief was almost comical and it drew a laugh from his owner.

“The puppies giving you a hard time?” the wizard asked.

“Master should not have brought them home,” Kreacher reproached. “They are small and noisy and needy and they drool,” he grumbled, earning a smile from the green eyed man.

“Really? You don’t like them?”

The house elf shook his head. “Kreacher doesn’t,” he insisted. He grew apprehensive when he saw a smile spread on his boss’ face. Next thing he knew the puppies were all over him, sniffing at him, and licking him and nuzzling him with him at the centre of their puppy pile. And Kreacher grumbled and cursed but not once did he push the animals away, confirming to his master what he already knew; Kreacher was a softie deep down and he loved babies.


	59. Desert Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

There had been information about a group of higher ranked officers pillaging equipment and stealing from locals. Normally Mycroft would not have sent his assistant for this job but he decided that _Sergeant Benjamin Pryce_ should join the British army stationed in Afghanistan. He had tried to send another but the results of the venture had been unfavourable, as in, his agent failed to get in with the right crowd and failed to pin point the persons responsible.  Since the matter was of great importance and he really did not want to waste more time he decided his assistant would have to be the one to fly over there and get the job done. Mycroft’s purpose for sending his overly qualified bodyguard/agent/secretary a dual, one, root out the bad apples, two, complete his espionage mission and get the files Mycroft wanted undetected with none the wiser. Spies the man who was the British Government had many. MI6 was practically at his disposal. What he needed was better than the average spy though. Usually, spies stuck out to normal soldiers and he needed someone who could blend in, someone who could convince the rest of the deployed soldiers they had at the region that he was a veteran on his third tour there. The matter, both aspects of it, was delicate, as was the handling it needed.

It was why the green eyed wizard was currently in a convoy moving from Lashkar Gah to Camp Bastion, dressed in military gear, carrying weapons and seated at the back of a truck accompanying medical personnel and medical supplies as well as accompanying a humanitarian aid. The heat was unbearable and _Benjamin_ was not about to use magic (besides the fact that someone could see him produce a stick or wonder why he was not bitching about the heat like the rest of the group) to make himself more comfortable. If there was one thing the he had learned during his training in Muggle military it was to tough it out and not choose the easy way. Also, he was the only Benjamin in his squadron. There were five Matt’s he was on nodding terms with, twenty five men named John that he knew of (it was a fun task trying to tell them apart) and an equal amount of Georges (men and women this time). He was familiar with many of the group, including the medical team.

One in particular, was John ‘Three Continents’ Watson. He was an army surgeon. He was of average height, blond hair cropped short but not a buzz cut, tanned skin and an easy going smile that went with his flirting skills. He was a bit shorter than _Benjamin_ but he was muscled and fit. One thing he quickly learned about the good doctor (besides the fact that he was on his second tour in Afghanistan) was that he was a womanizer and that his nicknamed came from the fact that he had slept with women from three different continents. There was also a ‘Four Continents George’ a nice brunette woman from Yorkshire who boasted of her round the world trip during her gap year. George and John had a bit of a competition going nick name wise but otherwise were excellent doctors.

“I hate the heat,” came the complaint from _Benjamin’s_ right.

There was a collective groan.

“John-John, not again,” was the exasperated reply from ‘Four Continents George’.

“I thought it was my turn to complain,” ‘John-John’ replied with a grin thrown her way. The nickname for this John came for his model like looks. They had tried naming him ‘Ken’ but there were two others with said name and things would get confusing fast.

“Just quit with the complaints already,” John ‘Three Continents’ yelled at them. “Focus on something else.”

“The scenery?” _Benjamin_ suggested. “We could count camels, or rocks, or…”

“Dust, sand and clouds?” ‘John-John’ snarked. “There’s plenty of dust and sand and no clouds.”

“Well, next time, pick Hawaii for your vacation, ponce,” ‘Four Continents George’ quipped.


	60. Doctor Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a wizard met a doctor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was during their third week that _Sergeant Benjamin Pryce_ got to see Doctor Watson in action. One group had been ambushed while returning from their regular patrol. No one had died at the time of the ambush but two of the soldiers had been shot and one of them was critical and could not be moved. John had to be brought to the site of the incident and _Benjamin_ was one of the three soldiers that accompanied him. The moment John laid eyes on his patient, the flirty, goofy guy was gone and the army doctor was there. With sharp commands and few movements he got to work and no one thought to bring any complaints about it, after all, it could be them being treated next time.

“Cover him,” _Benjamin_ told the other soldiers. While the doctor worked he was basically vulnerable to any attack himself.

“I hate snipers,” Watson grumbled as he worked on his patient.

“Is Private James going to be fine?” the wizard asked.

“I only saw the one bullet wound on his shoulder being a clean wound. He’s bleeding at the leg and I guess the bullet is still inside. As soon as I stabilize the bleeding we’re moving him. I need to operate and get the damn thing out,” the doctor said and shot the green eyed man a look. “Sorry about…”

“Cursing snipers?” _Benjamin_ grinned. “None taken. We do have a bit of a god complex, like surgeons really.”

Watson snorted. “Glad to know. Okay, I’m done here,” he said and when he pulled back the wizard saw that he was bloody and his hands were coated red. “Let’s move him!” he called out and there was a flurry of movement as Private James was carried onto a gurney and then on a vehicle.

The wizard watched from a safe distance as the doctors gathered around the tent started the operation. The tent was as sterilized as possible. He kept an ear out to keep track of the procedure. The doctors tried to examine the wound area, check if there was nerve or tendon and joint involvement. Painkillers were administered accordingly and the doctors got to do their work. He watched from afar as Doctor John Watson saved a soldier’s life. It was messy, like some victim extractions he had to do over the years, and nerve wracking and it took a special brand of bravery and a strong stomach to do what Watson did. There were few people the green eyed wizard felt honest respect for. One was his boss and his equally genius sibling. Another was DI Lestrade. After this tour the men and women of this army group would join his list. Unseen, _Sergeant Pryce_ went to do his job; he had a few weasels to unearth.


	61. Ambushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It came in a barrage of bullets and noise and utter chaos, the sneak attack. In hindsight, they practically walked into an ambush really but it could not be helped.

They had been helping evacuate civilian populations out of a settlement that was positively annihilated during an aerial attack. It was mostly women and children and only a couple of old men. Those had been unwilling to leave in the first place and after much cajoling and a bit of force they made them join the caravan. There were twenty one soldiers, in groups of three. Eighteen had been on the lookout, fingers on the trigger, eyes sharp for danger. Doctor Watson had been there, ready to assist. Somehow being a doctor made other people willing to overlook his military outfit and the gun on his waist. The children that were alone were easier to convince on the truck and the rest slowly followed. One of the officers could speak the local language and helped expedite the whole operation. The Red Cross representatives were doing their best to write down information and convince these people not to carry everything they had with them, not that they had much.

What the green eyed wizard remembered was the lull from the language as the people were loaded into the truck, the sun high on the sky as it was well after twelve in the morning and the heat was becoming unbearable. He had his target in sight, just in case the person he was tailing was willing to really break from the group and start snooping around for loot. There was silence and not even a breeze to give them reprieve when it started.

The noise made every one hit the ground and duck for cover. The sound was not from normal rifles or guns but heavier weaponry and the soldiers found themselves under heavy fire. Two snipers and about five separate shooters (it was much later that they learned the exact number) managed to make the soldiers instantly dive to the ground, all but those who were trained to do otherwise. _Benjamin_ was instantly on the offensive, covering the others with his own fire while he waited for them to get out of the way. He noticed absently that one of his targets, the main reason he was out here in the deserts was down, blood slowly coming out of him. He was wondering whether that meant his job was now harder and not easier. Explaining this to Mycroft would not be fun, at all.


	62. The Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

As their opponents started firing again he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to get the soldiers to organize in a sort of defence and if possible even launch a counter attack. What he recognized was the look of determination on Doctor Watson’s face (the soldier was not in the forefront of the man’s mind and that was obvious).

“Oi, doctor,” the green eyed wizard called out.

“Two of ours are downed but alive,” Watson said, barely heard under the loud gunfire.

 _Sergeant Pryce’_ s eyes went wide when he realized exactly what the good doctor wanted to do. “Don’t be an idiot, doctor!” he called out.

“I can save them Benjamin.”

The wizard cursed under his breath. The rest of the group heard the byplay.

“Too dangerous,” one of their comrades said. “I can see them down, not even twitching.”

That meant that they could be dead or unconscious and the wizard was not as brash as he used to be, he was not willing to risk a doctor on the possibility that those two could be alive. Yet as he took in the rest of the team he realized that these men and women would not be backing down. They were willing to help the Doctor and the wizard knew  that a few years ago, before he entered the secret services, before he took a job in killing people (sure most of them were dangerous but a kill was a kill) he would have been like them, a Gryffindor at heart. He sighed, knowing when to press and understanding that this was not the time. No one would be left behind today and if possible, most of them would survive.

“Will you cover for me?” John ‘Three Continents’ Watson asked him and _Benjamin_ nodded.

“For the record, you are a reckless idiot,” the Sergeant said, aware of the irony in his choice of words. He was all the more aware that the good Doctor was his age, maybe a bit younger, and so alike to the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ that it was not even funny. Yes, if he survived the desert and this ambush, his report would bring much amusement to Mycroft Holmes.

“Really?” the military doctor smiled. “Others would call me brave.”

The wizard scoffed even as he readied his gun. He saw Watson had his medical case ready in one hand and his hand gun, military issue, ready to fire in the other hand.

“We’ll settle this debate later,” _Sergeant Benjamin Pryce_ told Doctor John Watson. 


	63. Improvisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was simple really, if the good doctor wanted to reach the injured men he would need to get there in one piece but from the spot he was covering behind it was a good twenty to thirty feet till the downed soldiers and if he ran towards them, or even crawled, he was instantly a target. Some of the soldiers were trying to provide as much of a cover as possible to the unarmed people they had with them and the rest were attempting to get a good shot on those who ambushed them. It was in this kind of tableau that he had to work with. It had been years since the last time he needed to battle it out in the open. Sherlock’s rescue included in that time. The green eyed wizard was used to acting from the shadows, having the advantage and the privacy to work his magic, no pun intended as he was being quite literal. Still, magic was not his only weapon. He was able of stealth and speed and he used that to get away from his spot. His parting words to Doctor Watson were a quick, “Wait for my signal.”

“What signal?” the Muggle asked only to receive a smirk in reply.

“You’ll know when you hear it. I’ll try to flush them out in the open for the rest of the team to take them out as soon as possible. Then it will be possible for you to do your work. And Doctor? Please keep the bravery to a minimum?”

Watson smirked. “I won’t take unnecessary risks,” the man promised and watched with no small amount of admiration as the aloof green eyed Sergeant slipped away with a grace that reminded him of a cat. Settling in to wait was easy for him, even as his senses were in overload and his whole body straining under the stress. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins and he was not the only one.

The signal came in the form of two rapid shots and loud thumps, followed by yelling and cursing. As promised, their enemies were flushed out in the open for the UK soldiers to take them out as soon as possible.

“Watson! Go! Go! Go!” came the yelled signal from George Jones, aka ‘Four Continents George’ and the military doctor did as planned. The exchange of fire was not over but the other soldiers were able to redirect the enemy’s fire and Watson soon reached his first target. He found pulse and a pair of familiar blue eyes opened and looked to him with relief.

“Hey, John-John,” the doctor smiled at the injured man and got a strained smile in return.

“Shot… Leg,” the man said.

Watson nodded and looked around. “I’m moving you behind those planks here,” he said. “It’s going to hurt,” he warned. He gave another scrutinizing look on the man, confirming that only the leg was shot and he was not risking aggravating other injuries before lifting the man from the armpits and dragging him behind the planks he earlier mentioned to provide some cover so he could work in peace. He tried to ignore the exchange of fire, the yelling and the curses and set about stopping the bleeding and tying the wound.

“John,” the injured man said.

“Shush, trying to work here,” the doctor said.

“Listen to me,” the soldier said. “I saw Jackson and Meyson get shot. Head for Meyson, near the wall. Jackson was shot through the head.”

“Are you sure?” John asked.

‘John-John’ nodded.

“Okay then, now, you’re one lucky sod, the bullet got out and it doesn’t seem to have hit an artery,” Watson mumbled as he worked quickly. “Remember where Meyson was shot?”

“Upper body,” came the reply after a while.

“Great, now hang on there,” Watson said and got a pained grunt for an answer.


	64. The Bigger Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He had a vantage point so he could overlook the area. He took down the sniper and used his gun to drive the others out for the soldiers to pluck apart. The wizard kept an eye on Watson as the man treated his first patient, doing the sensible thing and taking the first available cover. The exchange of fire was starting to wind down and _Benjamin_ had so far seen one of the British soldiers duck down and clutch his shoulder while their opponents were slowly but steadily being shot down.

When the sound of firearms stopped, the wizard felt his shoulders relax just a little bit. His finger was still on the trigger as he gave one last look all over the area, just as the last of the enemies (three actually) surrendered. Slowly _Sergeant Pryce_ came down from the building and joined the rest of the team. He watched with one eye as their attackers were secured and neutralized. The rest of his attention was focused on John Watson as the man was hovering over Ken Meyson. The man was bleeding profusely from a wound on his upper right chest and a second bullet wound on his thigh. He was in a much worse condition than ‘John-John’ or John Miller as the man’s real name was.

Watson was hovering over Meyson, trying to stop the bleeding enough so that they could transfer them to Camp Bastion. It only took seconds, even faster than the ambush that sprang up on them. It only took a moment and one of the previously docile captives broke free and reached for a gun. It was eerily similar to that time Mycroft was targeted right out of the offices. The wizard heard the commotion but it was only when the man had a gun. It took second for the others to cause an equal amount of commotion, ready to fight again. Most of the soldiers were armed to the teeth and facing them, ready to shoot.

It was John Watson who was an easy target, John Watson who was so engrossed on the man he was treating that he had no time to duck for cover or react at all. There really only was one solution for this. _Benjamin_ was closer, he was fast enough to reach the doctor and he was used to being a shield. As far as plans went it was not a smart one, or one that guaranteed his safety. He had called John and idiot earlier but now he was going to do what he had earlier ordered the man not to do. He was fast to reach John and when the doctor turned at the sound of a gunshot, he gasped. Two more gunshots and finally three together and there was silence at the sight. Just enough time for the soldiers to see _Sergeant Benjamin Pryce_ collapse against Watson’s hold. The good doctor was sprayed with blood as he tried to ease the green eyed man to the ground.

George Jones was the first to run to them, by passing the now dead shooter and running them. She reached them only for her eyes to widen in horror. The three shots the prisoner had managed to fire had all found the Sergeant. Two had pierced through him and from the rapidly growing red stain on Watson’s uniform it was obvious that the doctor was also hurt. There was as pray of blood staining the doctor’s uniform and even his face as he desperately tried to staunch the blood flow from the green eyed man’s most serious wound. During this all, _Sergeant Pryce_ was unconscious and unaware of the panic around him.


	65. Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The alert came when he was in a budget meeting. There were going to be cuts in the military budget again and quite a few people were afraid there might be a military facility or two closing down. That meant quiet a few jittery alpha males in the room, high tensions and greed made for a pretty bad atmosphere. Mycroft, who on a good day could not tolerate foolishness and stupidity was doing his best to smile and act harmless when he was secretly plotting of various ways of making them more... humble.

Anthea was next to him, acting like the perfect assistant and multi-tasking when possible. With his magical (literally) assistant on a missing several countries away her workload had doubled but she was not complaining, if anything she seemed to enjoy the challenge.

Which was why her reaction caught his attention when he noticed her going stiff and pale just a bit under the cosmetic blush she wore. And he only noticed because he was that observant, otherwise her reaction was really barely there. No one else noticed.

Mycroft did not wait a second, just whipped out his phones and texted her.

_What happened? MH_

Anthea hesitated only for a second.

 _Benjamin's group was ambushed. As of yet we have no information. Waiting on satellite pictures!_ A

Mycroft did not even bat an eyelash.

_Find out what happened to him NOW. MH_

Anthea did not reply to that message, just got up and slipped out of the room, before she started making calls. Twenty minutes later Mycroft had ordered the wizard's repatriation, accompanied by a team of medical experts.


	66. Drugged Ramblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He woke up to the face of his boss seated across from him in a three-piece suit. All that was missing was a warehouse and an umbrella, then Holmes would be at home. He was also in a world of hurt and his lips were parched.

"There's water available, a whole jar of it actually, if you can get past the pain to actually move a bit."

"You're an arse."

"And you my dear Harry get into more trouble than my brother Sherlock."

The wizard rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it. "What in Merlin's name did they give me?"

"Morphine and a few other opiates. You were a horrible mess," the man who was the British Government commented. There was a hardness in his voice that betrayed how much he had not liked the situation.

"Mmm, hate Muggle drugs," the wizard complained. "They make my magic act weirder than normal."

Mycroft seemed to understand perfectly so he stood and adjusted the dosage on the green-eyed man's drip.

"If your career in politics, espionage and real life Strategy ever fails you then you could pursue a nurse's career," Harry told him.

"I would have thought you'd hate my bedside manner," the older Holmes brother remarked.

"Your bedside manner is just like your office manner, dinner manner and even morning manner," the wizard muttered. "You know I'm aware that Sherlock is not the only high functioning sociopath in your family, right? I guess you're just a better actor." Then he closed his brilliant green eyes again, the medication and his body's state making him drift off. Thus he missed the truly amused look on Mycroft's face.

"And you my dear Harry are smarter than you want to admit," he said to the quiet room and resumed his vigil.


	67. Follow Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The doctors did not like it when he checked himself out against their advice. Mycroft did not say anything and Anthea looked like she wanted to say a lot. But when the raven haired man stood up from the bed after two days after he first woke up when the predictions said it would take him a week at minimum, they found that there really was not much they could do to actually stop him. Kreacher for once seemed to be in complete agreement with the Muggle’s over this matter, woefully unimpressed with his Master's healing abilities.

"A bit of rest won't kill you," Mycroft commented before the wizard could exit the town car that drove them both to Number 12 Grimmauld Place in London.

His assistant and bodyguard shrugged. "That is an opening for so many puns that it's not even funny," he informed his boss. "This way I'll rest better and not need to wipe out the mind of the entire hospital. That bit would hardly help my recovery," he drawled.

"Surely you're exaggerating," Sherlock's older brother stated.

"Doctors gossip," the wizard stated. "A simple piece of paper would not get them to actually shut up and you know it."

"You can't come back to work until Monday, that's six days from now."

"Unless the country is under threat," the green eyed man countered.

"Believe me, if I need you, I'll call you, even if you're on your death bed," Mycroft stated.

"And here I thought you were getting soft and sentimental on me," the wizard joked and disappeared inside the Black’s townhouse.

He was not in the house for a minute when he turned to look at Kreacher.

"Master is going to ask something of Kreacher," the house elf frowned. "Master's Holmes does not like it when Master is sneaky," came the slight reprimand. "And Master Harry is too sick to be up to mischief."

The wizard smiled at Kreacher. "I'm not up to any mischief this time, trust me."

The house-elf sniffed in disbelief.

"I just want to look in on someone," the raven haired man defended. "He got hurt helping me, saving my life," he told and the house-elf suddenly looked more eager though still weary. The Boy-Who-Lived wanted to roll his eyes with fondness at how overprotective the creature was of him. It was rather endearing really.

"I'm listening," Kreacher said.

The wizard nodded. "Very well. His name is John Hamish Watson, an army doctor."

Kreacher bobbed his head to show he understood.

"Find out where he is and how he's doing."

"As soon as Master goes to bed," Kreacher replied and the wizard chuckled.

"You really enjoy mothering me," the green eyed man said but relented. He could have found out about John from Anthea, or anyone at the office, but his interest was not professional and he hated using office resources to sate his mind so he had to utilise Kreacher. And the house elf was not one to complain.

Five hours later Kreacher woke him up from his nap with a warm dinner and information on John's survival from the whole ordeal with a gunshot to the arm and several abrasions. The doctor was touch and go for a while due to blood loss but he had survived and was currently recuperating in London.

It was enough for now, the wizard decided. He would keep an eye on him. It was the least he could do.


	68. Medals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was funny how it happened sometimes. Technically, he had no name, no identity. Those times he did appear in a carefully constructed persona, he had a different name, age, talents and habits. Mycroft's people (and he included himself in that bunch) were quite talented at creating someone who did not exist. For example, one of his personas, one Lieutenant Michael Bors, even had a social security number and bank accounts. And he was currently serving in some NATO base he did not care enough to remember. Another one was of:--

However what was out of the norm was for one of his personas to be awarded a medal.  _Sergeant Benjamin Pryce_ was awarded a medal for gallantry in the field and for going above and beyond the call of duty to help not only his comrades but other lives as well. It was not a George Cross, like the one Doctor Watson received for his actions out in the field and it was not an Order of Merlin or even Knighthood (It sprang up in his mind that he had to get ready for the upcoming tea date he had with the Monarch, sans Mycroft's presence this time), but it was a medal that meant something both for his persona and the people he had risked his life for. He had a feeling he might use the good Sergeant's name in the future again.

The wizard did not receive his medal in person. He sent one of the soldiers stationed as security around Mycroft's offices. But he was at the ceremony, accompanied by Anthea who had been curious to see it. He had hit them both with ' _Notice-Me-Not_ ' charms and was content to sit at the sidelines. He did not expect to see Doctor Watson there. The green eyed man also did not expect for the doctor to be in such a state.

It was not that he was heavily injured or scarred like a couple of other people. He just looked... dead. Gone was the lively man that was the soul of the group, there was no smile on his face, his eyes were dull, defeated. He walked heavily, with a limp, accepted praise with humbleness but he was skittish and... The wizard hated repeating himself but the man was dull and the dullness had probably a lot to do with the fact that the doctor had also been discharged from the armed forces (Kreacher was more prompt with his Intel than Anthea). The green eyed man made yet again the mental note to keep an eye on the man who saved his life.


	69. A Study in Pink... in Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He watched the news with a frown on his face ever since the first random suicide happened. He could not help it; odd things just caught his interest. It was the wizard that actually brought it to Mycroft's attention. After the first one, Mycroft had been disbelieving. After the second one he was tentatively interested.

"Let the police handle it," the man who was the British Government had suggested.

After the third body turned up, Mycroft spoke to his assistant first.

"Make sure to keep an eye on Sherlock, it's just the thing to pique his ... interest."

"Of course sir,"  _Dimitri_ had replied and promptly upped Sherlock's security detail and gathered as much information as he could on the cases. Had he not known that the Magical Community was separated he would have feared that a wizard or which was responsible for the deaths. Somehow the idea that a Muggle could kill without a trace, make the green eye man more uncomfortable. He would have liked to get involved but his curiosity no longer got the better of him, and he could curb his impulses better now.

So he did not snoop, did not even try to do anything but follow the case on the news, when he had the time to do so, and he most certainly did not spy on the good detective Lestrade and his men and women. But even as he did all that he just knew that there was one person in the entire city that would just find serial suicides fascinating and if Sherlock got involved then the wizard would have to be involved as well.

For that reason he delegated the task of staying up to date with everything to Anthea, who was bewildered at first but happy to follow his orders. Mycroft Holmes found this acceptable. He got someone to watch over his brother but at the same time his assistant was not busy running after his younger sibling.

And then something changed. It was not just that the number of bodies reached four, no, it was something that happened around the case of the fourth murder victim and it caused a shift in Sherlock's personal life and as a result to Mycroft's as well.

What happened was that one John Watson got back on the wizard's radar.

 


	70. Sherlock’s New Roommate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Anthea read the report twice more before she cocked her head to the side, tapping a finger on her desk, the same one she shared with her boss’ other assistant. Green eyes focused on her at the sign of her nervousness.

“Sherlock’s report?” the man hazarded a guess and she nodded.

“Yes,” came her reluctant answer.

The man sighed and pushed back on his chair. “Okay, now I’m intrigued. If he has you all bothered…”

“He’s found himself a roommate, again.”

The wizard stilled. “A… roommate?” he repeated.

Anthea nodded.

“A desperate student in need of cheap accommodation? Or perhaps another charity case? He does love them, especially when they have something to hide. Or perhaps a criminal?”

“He probably learned his lesson since last time he did that,” the nameless woman remarked.

The green eyed man chuckled. “You would think so. Personally, I think he just ‘deleted’ the whole thing. Sherlock, much like his older sibling, doesn’t like to be reminded of his shortcomings.”

“No, I would believe no one likes that,” Anthea said.

“So, the roommate?”

“He’s a doctor.”

The wizard blinked. “Not a… psychiatrist is he? You know how the last one ended up. The paperwork for that was a nightmare; his brother had been a lawyer.”

“No,” the woman said. “In fact I think you’ll be rather familiar with the name and Mycroft might actually approve of him.”

The man’s interest was piqued and he requested the file. He stared as the name John Hamish Watson appeared on the very first page, next to the picture of a very familiar army doctor. The wizard then smiled. Things were bound to get more interesting.


	71. Getting Away With Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Contrary to what Sherlock really thought of his brother and the people who worked for him, Mycroft was not out to get him, or ruin his life. It was why even though he knew it was really, really illegal to do so, he decided to have his green-eyed magician help his sibling and his new friend (and that was an odd combination to consider) walk away with what could have been a disaster. Murder was still murder. And while John Watson had killed a criminal, it was not-self defence as he had saved Sherlock's life not his own. The Law would not do to get involved in this. John Watson was a good man, he did not deserve prison. Add to that, in Mycroft's eyes, the Holmes family owed the good doctor for saving Sherlock from his worst enemy, himself. Because Mycroft knew that Sherlock, despite his claims to the contrary, would have downed that blasted pill just because he was curious and wanted to experiment. And Mycroft while watching that footage had horrible memories flashing before him, of Sherlock pale and still laying on a hospital bed.

"I've lived it twice already," Mycroft sighed softly.

 _Yan_  stood next to him, watching the footage (admittedly the angle was bad and there was no sound) of the horrible stand-off between Sherlock and the cab driver. Neither of them had jumped when the glass shattered and the cabbie dropped dead. They did not bat an eyelash when Sherlock assaulted the man in his quest for answers and neither of them cared when the serial killer died. What they did care was that there was evidence of John arriving in the area and there was even a snapshot of the doctor with his gun raised. It would not be much of a leap if anyone saw the footage to realise who had taken the shot.

"Sir?" the wizard asked in response.

"I want this solved before Lestrade and his men reach the scene," Mycroft stated.

The green-eyed man quirked his lips. "That's decidedly unlawful of you Mycroft,"  _Yan_  remarked.

The oldest of the Holmes siblings arched his eyebrow.

"I'll take care of it. Though you know, Greg Lestrade is not an idiot."

"I know. I'm leaving with Anthea."

 _Yan_ actually chuckled this time. "Try not to rile up Sherlock too much, he's had enough excitement for one night."

"The CCTV..."

"Won't be an issue, neither will the ballistics report. I can tweak it just enough to muddy the waters. And frankly? No one will look too close."

"Resorting to compulsions?" Mycroft asked the wizard.

"No, just exploiting the human need for revenge."

 


	72. Brotherly Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"You're his brother?"

Mycroft withheld the signs of amusement that wanted to escape him when the good doctor realised the relationship between his sort of kidnapper and his new roommate. Deep down though he was a bit disturbed by how nefarious his reputation was to Sherlock still. he was not a bad person (most of the time and his brother was not an enemy so he had never felt Mycroft's wrath enough to hold a grudge about it), he looked after Sherlock (so he had a bit of a history in stalking the younger Holmes - If Sherlock did not get in danger constantly then Mycroft reasoned he would have trusted him to take care of himself more), and he may have an overbearing personality (geniuses clash, there were rules about this), but the sheer surprise on John Watson's face stung just a bit. He pushed past it, because the good doctor was just as exasperated as he felt at Sherlock's given status of his brother as an 'arch enemy'.

The man who was the British Government loved the reactions he got when people realised that no, Sherlock was not the only Holmes around. Nine times out of ten, people were terrified, the minority just found them all the more interesting. His loyal employees were part of that minority, Gregory Lestrade was another and now Doctor Watson was added to them.

"So when you said you worried about him, you really meant it," John realised.

"Of course!" Mycroft replied. Inwardly he thought that Watson would learn to worry about Sherlock as well. Then the coroner passed them by, the cabbies dead body covered up and he amended that to John having already started worrying about Sherlock. He realised that a re-enactment of their meeting at the warehouse would not be needed. So he just made arrangements to include John in Sherlock's security detail.


	73. Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Kreacher was frowning at him, hands on his waist and his eyes judgmental.

His master in turn tried to ignore all the reasons why the house elf was worried about him. Months had passed since his little adventure in Iraq had gotten him a flight home in the most painful way possible. He still had a few rounds of physiotherapy to finish and he insisted on not taking any medication when the twinges of pain because a tad too much when the weather changed (humidity did not help at all). The green-eyed wizard knew he was getting better and he had recovered faster than a Muggle would have in the first place. He did not even suffer psychologically from it (that was a topic best left alone because if he took the time to think just why near misses with Death were no big deal then he would need professional help). He knew he was not invisible and he usually avoided taking unnecessary risks, but he realised that perhaps, he was getting older.

His reactions had not slowed, his magic was getting stronger, his eyesight was no worse and no better, he had no grey hair to speak of and he was at his best physically. What the elf worried about was just how empty the house was. The wizard could tell. Kreacher had often tried to speak to him about it when his friends were no longer able to visit, little Teddy was living with his grandmother and it was very hard for him to visit as well.

They were not likely to join the rest of the magical community across the wall separating the non-magical from the magical plane and on some level. He had asked a couple of months back if the house elf would rather travel across, the last Potter was able to send him there, but Kreacher did not want that all that much. He was old now, Master would never have kids for him to take care of and the house was big enough, not to mention the hellish puppies the wizard had brought home that were getting bigger and naughtier.

"Aren't you lonely Kreacher?"

“Kreacher has Master and Master is kind," the Black house-elf replied, reminding the wizard that he had also spent thirteen years with only a portrait for company. "Perhaps Master is the one who is lonely?" the house-elf boldly commented.

"You're not entirely wrong, Kreacher," he told the magical being who nodded and shuffled away. After all, there was nothing more to add to this.


	74. Eye for Detail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Not many people were aware of it but Mycroft Holmes was in many ways similar to Sherlock and in others far superior to his younger brother. They both possessed good looks (the wizard was objective on this even though he did like the red hues on Mycroft's hair just a tad more - he had nice memories related to red-head and it somehow transferred to Mycroft), they were both too smart for their own good and were annoyingly good at deductions. There was a reason no one in Mycroft's office was having an affair and it had everything to do with the fact that they all knew their boss would be able to tell and that was in a word, mortifying.

Not that this stopped the wizard from sometimes going from his lovers' beds to work (with a short stop to change clothes at home - magic was great that way). Those days he would expect at least one comment on his nightly activities and Mycroft would deliver without fail.

The first time Anthea was present for it she was left speechless.

They had brought him files on a person of interest when Mycroft commented Anthea on her trimmed hair (the wizard had noticed as well and complimented accordingly) before turning to his magical assistant and bodyguard and quirked an eyebrow.

"Last night must have been quite good for you," the man who was the British Government commented. Club or pub?"

"Restaurant actually, while I was at the bar waiting to be seated," the wizard replied.

"Was the food any good?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes, but the chef was far better," came the response that left Anthea with wide eyes.

Afterwards, they had left Mycroft's office behind them the Muggle woman turned to stare at him. "Did he seriously ask you if you had sex last night?"

The wizard scoffed. "Asked? No. He knew I had sex last night. He asked if it was good or not," he told her and walked away with a teasing smile on his face.


	75. 007 or Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"You can dress again  _Caradoc_ , I'm done."

"Thought you would never say that!"

James Isaac Bode rolled his eyes and snorted in amusement at the flippant comment, as his good customer, tentative friend and old flame, hopped off the stool and walked to his discarded clothes, also fine pieces of his making.

"You're onto my evil plan," he mocked.

"Well, I'm clever like that," the green-eyed man replied as he picked up his trousers and started wearing them.

"You know..." James sighed. "I thought my old man was exaggerating but those scars of yours... You have more than the last time you were here."

The other man was quiet as he zipped himself up. "Yes," was all he offered as a response.

The tailor frowned a bit. "I remember you telling me that you work for the government."

 _Caradoc_ paused mid motion, belt in his hands. "Yes, I do."

He was not deflecting so James thought he was safe to continue asking questions.

"You know I usually am the 'don't ask-don't tell' kind of guy but I know you, and do care about you. Those scars, those aren't something someone having a desk job gets." He hesitated for a second. " _Caradoc,_ are you a spy?"

For a while silence, and it made James feel a bit silly. Then the green eyed man gave in to laughter and it made the tailor blush.

"It's not that funny! It's a legitimate question I tell you!"

"Well, Mr. J, you already have an acronym. Would you be the Mr. Q to my 007?" the half-dressed man asked before laughing once again."

James rolled his eyes. "Just get dressed will you? I know it was stupid."

The man let off on the laughter and fell into chuckling. "You have no idea how much you made my day."

"Oh, believe me  _Caradoc,_ I have a small idea."

The green eyed man shook his head. "You really are a smart man."

It was much later, after  _Caradoc_ who had dressed up and left that James Isaac Bode realised the man had never confirmed or denied the question, he had just laughed.


	76. Glances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

John had stopped many times in the middle of the street, thinking he saw a familiar face, happens to everyone. Just sometimes, the faces he sees belong to people who are, well, dead. People he served with that died in his arms, while being treated by him, or even people he never even got the chance to save. Those types of meetings are few and far in between (in fact since meeting Sherlock he has not had one). Now and then though he comes across people he recognises. Some are Sherlock's network. Others...

There was one such day; he was getting groceries from a deli he had discovered while he was following Sherlock around for one of his cases. The owners were younger than him, Greek, the foods available plenty and fresh, if a bit over his usual price range, but he had wanted to taste real food again. Sherlock was counter-productive to that, seeing how often he used the kitchen as his personal morgue slash lab.

The former army doctor was about to leave the dairy isle when he saw through the window display a familiar figure crossing the street. It was unmistakable really, that shade of black, with green eyes, in a suit, talking on the phone and looking ahead. Then his view got interrupted by a van and the figure was gone. It was so fast that he thought he had imagined him. He had of course thought about  _Sergeant Benjamin Pryce_  a lot while he was recovering and then later, when he was receiving his medal. He knew the man with the unusually green eyes had survived but other than that, no one from their unit had any information on the man.

John had briefly considered some of the rumours that had sprung up on one point that there had been a member of the Secret Services planted on their unit but  _Benjamin_ had not been at all like how those stiffs usually acted around soldiers so he had not believed any of those rumours. He was also firm in his belief that  _Sergeant_   _Pryce_  was a good man who had risked his life alongside him. For the doctor that was all he needed to know. So he shook his head and decided to put that strange happening out of his mind, lots of people had look-alikes after all. What he should worry about was Sherlock and what kind of stupid or dangerous antics he might be up to if he was left alone for too long.


	77. Consulting Criminal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"You're frowning."

Mycroft raised his eyes from the report in front of him.

"Yes, I suppose I am," he told his assistant. "Can you make sure we're not overheard?"

The wizard smiled. "That is ridiculously easy to achieve.  _Muffliato!_ " he said, not even taking out his wand to do so. The spell took. After that he cast a locking spell on the door and raised a ward for good measure around the office. Mycroft's computer shut down abruptly and the lights flickered once before settling down again. "That ought to be enough for you," the green-eyed man decided.

The man who was the British Government looked unimpressed and maybe even a tad annoyed, but the wizard was not worried.

"I have a problem," the Muggle stated, straight to the point and not making a comment on the magic that he felt wash over him.

"I see. How do you want me to help?"

Mycroft clasped his fingers together and pressed his chin to them. "What do your contacts in the so called criminal underworld tell you."

Green eyes sharpened. "The whispers over the past few months have turned into outright talk, all about a consulting criminal of all things. The nameless, faceless entity that pulls strings over several unsavoury businesses fancies himself to be Sherlock's arch nemesis."

"That is spot on. It's safe to say you have more than heard of him?"

The smirk on the wizard's face was telling. "The name is Moriarty and he is getting brazen about plenty of things."

"Yes, I have reasons to believe he started courting my brother with that serial suicides' case," the older of the Holmes siblings said.

"I've tied him to the Triads, a human trafficking ring, two dozen execution style murders and one uprising in Africa," the raven haired man supplied, "There are more rumours than I care to mention but nothing concrete. He has not dirtied his hands; he's the mastermind behind crimes, so far only suggesting ways of criminal activities to people already thinking of committing crimes. Like a little devil on their shoulder."

"I don't like him," Mycroft told him.

"I'd worry if you did."

"Is Sherlock aware of him yet?"

"He's your brother."

Mycroft sighed and sat back in his chair. "Then he is aware of someone pulling the strings behind his cases, even if he does not have a name yet. Sherlock does like his toys."

"He's like you in that regard," the green eyed man said.

"I want you to keep an eye on him."

"You mean track Moriarty down."

The seated man scoffed. "Are you telling me you have no idea where he is?"

The wizard smiled, "Your faith in my abilities is astounding really."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"It was not a no," the younger man said, "I'm keeping an eye on things, tracking his network as much as I can. I'll also have Anthea double the eyes on Sherlock and those living at 221b Baker Street."

"Good," Mycroft decided, "Something big is coming and I want us prepared."


	78. The Left Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"I think there are people watching me," John told Sherlock one afternoon.

They had just closed the "Blind Banker Case" and that included John uploading his latest update on his blog about said case about the antiquities smuggling ring and the Chinese Mafia. It had given him a rush and to be honest, he was enjoying himself when he followed after Sherlock more than he expected.

Said detective was sprawled on his chair, holding the skull he so loved in his palms and for all purposes acting as if he was holding a staring contest with it. John had walked in on a similar tableau before so he took it in his stride.

"Of course there are people watching you John, I disparage that it took you so long to notice this," Sherlock told his roommate. "He would not have it any other way."

John blinked and turned the answer in his head. "You mean Mycroft; your brother put them there? He actually has people watching us? Or did he order Anthea to do it."

"Yes and no, she's not usually involved with such things, his assistant however..." Sherlock made a face.

"I've met Anthea," the doctor said. "I thought she's his PA."

"John, is that fondness I detect?"

"Well, she's a lovely woman and I have eyes."

Sherlock scoffed. "She'll have you for breakfast. And she's new. I can't decide if she's better or worse than his shadow, too early still," he muttered.

"His shadow? Like Mycroft's your nemesis?" Disbelief was clear in Watson's voice.

The consulting detective looked rather annoyed by his nonchalant attitude. "Yes, his shadow, right hand man... Probably left hand too."

The doctor was now curious. "I know right hand means his go-to man but left hand? Come on! What does that even mean?"

That earned the shorter man a contemptuous look. "Really John?"

"What? It's a valid question you know. If Mycroft was a king or a mafia boss I'd say his left hand would be his..." John trailed off as his chain of thought reached a conclusion he balked at.

The self-proclaimed sociopath grinned. "You finally caught on then."

John was not amused. "Wait a minute Sherlock, what you're telling me here is that your brother employs an assassin?"

"A left hand, John," Sherlock corrected.

"And now you choose to bother with tact?"

The detective blinked. "Tact? Not really. I just don't like how we started gossiping."

The ex army doctor spluttered. "Are you serious?"

Sherlock cracked a grin then, "No, I'm actually joking about this."

John relaxed. "Not that funny, your joke."

"John, I'm joking about us gossiping, not about the fact that Mycroft's assistant also doubles as his personal assassin," Sherlock stated and left the room.

John did not know whether he should be frightened, horrified or both.


	79. Food for Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He watched with serious eyes as the man across from him took away yet another full tray.

Anthea was studying him. "That's the fourth day in a row he hasn't eaten lunch," she remarked.

What she did not know was that it was actually the sixth, Mycroft had come to the office on the weekend as well and he had skipped lunch then as well and he had eaten dinner four times that week. The only reason the wizard had not said anything sooner was because Mycroft was at least eating breakfast (he checked, some surface use of Legilimency never hurt).

"I'll take care of it," the green eyed man told her.

She sent him a dubious look and he smiled.

Inwardly he was amused at the similarities between how he used to be, and still was sometimes, and Mycroft. When he had Kreacher to fuss over him and remind him that he was human, who did Mycroft Holmes have? Sherlock? The young genius was just as bad if not worse than Mycroft at taking care of himself. Their mother… No, that was terrifying thought. Mycroft was by himself really. And the wizard had sworn to protect him while he worked for him and he considered protecting him from himself to be part of that deal. He would have to be sneaky about it but he could do it. He had already taken his planner out and was shuffling appointments and meetings and cancelling those that were beneath the man's notice.

He had done this before, when during a very important piece of legislation was about to be discussed in the Parliament, Mycroft had gone without food for two days, relying only on tea, chocolate cake and cigarettes. It was back when he started working with the man that he noticed that Holmes was a creature of habit, just like most human beings. So what if he manipulated him when he had to? He had carte blanche from Mycroft because the wizard knew that had the man not liked something, he would tell him so.

As it was, when he announced the changed schedule to Mycroft, all he got was a raised eyebrow.

"Again?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You sound amused," Mycroft accused him.

"Would you prefer if I fretted?" the wizard asked.

"No." It was emphatic that 'no'. "What did Anthea think of it?"

"What all women think when men don't take care of themselves."

"Yes, not all of us are stupid."

The green eyed man smirked. "No, some are just smarter than they should. Shall I call your car? You wouldn't want to miss your dinner reservations."

"You're annoying when you care," Mycroft told him.

"Not annoying enough to get you angry at me."

"Did you arrange for a menu as well?"

"Five-course meal, dessert included," the wizard said.

"And company?"

"I do have to eat."

Mycroft sighed. "Then let's go," he said and stood.

Anthea shot a rather admiring look at the green-eyed man (behind Mycroft's back of course) when the two men headed for the lifts.


	80. Competition, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.  
> A/N: This chapter was an idea/prompt by Azteka (Guest on FFnet) on 17-06-2013. The idea: Anthea and Harry competing on who can come up with the most unique or unusual names to call each other, and Mycroft getting annoyed in his special way by their little game.

He exited the elevator deeply engrossed in his emails. He loosely held his umbrella in hand as he navigated the hallways with an ease that came from familiarity. However it came to his attention that something was different that morning. He passed by Ms. Cowel and Mr. Patterson looked rather amused at something. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He then realized that there was an unusual amount of muttering in the hallways. He stopped in front of them and they both sat up just a bit straighter, all that was missing was the military salute. He gave them both an overall look and tried to ignore what signs he read about their personal lives. It was rather obvious to him from the ways Ms. Cowel looked that she was not sleeping well lately. And it was work related either. He knew that she lived in a part of town that students usually frequented. That meant louder neighbours. He knew it was due to them that she was not sleeping well for at least the past week. And a look at Mr. Patterson showed him that the man's home life was not going well. His clothes were pristine in a way that showed his wife had not ironed his shirt, but a professional dry cleaner. His ring was missing and he looked frazzled. He was not the kind to have affairs so that left the man's wife had cheated on him. Mycroft sighed. He really hated being so perceptive.

"Something happened today. Unrelated to work," he stated, not even bothering with cordial greetings.

Ms. Cowel cleared her throat. "Mr. Augustus and Mrs. May are having a competition of sorts."

"No one knows how it started," Mr. Patterson added. "But we do know that they settled on a competition on who will find the most unusual and unique names, for each other that is."

"A name competition," Mycroft repeated, the absurdity of it somehow not shocking him as much as it should. He had grown up with Sherlock and the Holmes siblings had even more ridiculous competitions between them. He fought the urge to bring a hand up to rub his forehead. "I see," was all he said on that subject. "Just get back to work," he told them. He started towards his office before pausing. "Oh, and Mr. Patterson, do get a good lawyer for your divorce, it's gone on long enough. Mrs. Cowel, if your neighbours keep giving you trouble either call the police, take sleeping pills or move. I suggest the third option," he finished and walked ahead.

Before closing his door he caught Patterson's, "I hate when he does that!" and smirked inwardly. Deduction was one game he had perfected since he was a child. He did not often do this as blatantly as Sherlock, but it was in his repertoire and it kept his people on their toes.

 

 

 

At first Mycroft thought nothing of the little game his two assistants were engaged in. For him it was easy to keep track of the ever-changing names. And the persona's that sometimes followed them.

Hermes and Hestia, not all that uncommon really. The Roman Pantheon theme was a nice touch. Mycroft was glad they had not worn togas to come to the office. He would not put it past the green-eyed man to do something like this.

Clover and Hyacinth were rather unusual, flowery names. There were plenty of jokes about the 1970's and hippies. A couple came from Mycroft himself. Again, no matching outfits, even though he caught Ms. Cowel making a suggestion to  _Clover._

Bruno and Brigite were fine German names, merely gathering a mention. It was also the start of another competition between his assistants. Mycroft learned then that their German was quite basic and made a note to fix that, for the wizard at least.

Jose-Armando and Lupita were Spanish names and they struck a chord in some of his employees. That day Mycroft heard plenty of references to South American soap operas that he was a bit alarmed at the tastes of his staff.  _Lupita_ knew some Brazilian Portuguese while  _Jose-Armando_  understood enough to answer her in Spanish.

Fionnuala and Tuireann were a bit of a mouthful. This time both his assistants made use of Irish to talk. The wizard's accent was better but  _Fionnuala's_  vocabulary was more extensive. Both of them were quite vexed when Mycroft actually answered them in Erse.   

Ipatia and Diocletianus, they had raised quite a few eyebrows. The fact that  _Diocletianus_ actually spoke Latin to some people, usually to insult their intelligence when they were being idiots... Well, Mycroft could not help the chuckle that escaped him. And  _Ipatia_  was beginning to get annoyed at how many languages Mycroft could speak.


	81. Competition, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The phone 'beeped' alerting Mycroft to his customary first text of the day, informing him what the name of the day was. It was a daily ritual, as familiar as his visits to the Diogenes Club. Lately though the texts that would once repeat some names had started becoming rather unique, all because of the ongoing competition between his two assistants.

He was keeping up but the rest of his staff would sometimes get confused. It was getting a bit tedious but Mycroft knew not to spoil the wizard's fun, too much. So he decided to change the game so that it would be on his own terms.

* * *

Next morning two phones 'beeped' at separate parts pf London. Mycroft Holmes' assistants received the first order of the day by their boss.

"Bonjour Jaquette and Jean-Baptiste. Do re-schedule the French ambassador for a later date."

That day he spoke to them only in French, making it clear that he was taking control of the game.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of names and languages.

Tuesday it was Russian for Irina and Ivan, with a slur from  _Ivan_  at Mycroft's lack for imaginative names.

Wednesday was Mycroft's payback, using Japanese. Ichirou-san and Kaede-dono had not been amused.

Thursday was Korean day and if asked, Mycroft would deny his inspiration came due to his dinner the previous night at a very nice Korean restaurant. Jung Jae-Wong and Choi Ji-min had not been amused, though only  _Jung_  had realised why Mycroft chose Korean names and asked how his dinner was.

"No harm in drawing inspiration from life," the man who was the British Government said.

"Well, you do get points for originality," the wizard conceded. "I've never used a Korean name before."

Friday was Italian all day long for Edvige and Liborio. The wizard had looked startled at the name his colleague had and when Mycroft asked, he admitted that he had known someone with the British variant of the name, Hedwig. Holmes' deductive skills kicked in. He did not ask anything and the wizard did not give away his emotions. The past tense he used spoke volumes really.

The next day Mycroft ended the game and on Monday, Anthea was back, along with  _Carl._  The office poll declared the game a tie.


	82. The Clever Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

John regarded the DI with curiosity. He had meant to ask Greg about the drug bust Lestrade had orchestrated at 221b Baker Street.

"It stops being pretend if we find anything," Lestrade had commented with a seriousness that John had not even heard when they had been at the crime scene earlier.

The doctor had not said anything then, or at least after he tried to defend Sherlock and the genius detective had gently told him not to. It had been a shock to his system to realize that yes, Sherlock did have a drug problem and that Lestrade was not wrong in searching the flat. He had stopped when Sherlock decided to co-operate with him, but the detective had remained suspicious. John also had the suspicion that there were opiates in the flat, well hidden. Whether Sherlock used them for experiments or recreation remained to be seen. The doctor could not imagine Sherlock as a, well, junkie. That image was just not possible. It was not compatible with the image of the smartly dressed, too smart to be such an idiot, consulting detective. A part of him knew it was ridiculous, and another part wondered how he was so protective and so trusting of a man he had not known for even a month.

"Am I late?" Greg said as he slid into the seat across from him.

John smiled and welcomed the detective. "No, you're on time; I was just a bit early. Long day at Scotland Yard?"

"Not bad but not good either. When there are no crimes there's paperwork," Greg replied. "I feel like an arse, but I'd rather deal with a body than with bureaucracy."

John snorted. "I can relate to that. Coffee or beer?"

"Already ordered a coffee coming in," Greg told him. "You sounded serious over the phone. Is there a problem? Because I admit I never expected a call from you. Not that it's unwelcome."

"Yes, we have met so many times lately, it's nice meeting you without a coroner around," the doctor said, making the detective chuckle.

"So?" the grey haired man prompted. "You did mention in your cryptic phone call that you have questions."

John nodded. He waited until the waitress that brought Greg's coffee left them alone again. "Well, I wanted to talk to you about Sherlock's drug habit. About the fact that Sherlock has a drug habit at all."

Greg sighed. "I was half expecting that to be honest. You looked gob smacked that day."

"I don't have a problem if he was a drug addict because well, my sister… she's alcoholic," John admitted. "Sherlock deduced that by the way. I just," he huffed. "He's so bloody smart! A genius! I cannot for the life of me believe he would do something so monumentally stupid!"

The detective nodded. "Well, he is a genius but he can be incredibly stupid." He played a bit with the cup in front of him. "I found him, you know. After the second time he overdosed. I was there after the first time as well. He had promised then he would not do it again but…" Greg shook his head. "I was the one to call his brother and that assistant of his, rode with Sherlock to the hospital. They took care of everything after that but they kept me updated about his progress. He spent days in a coma and we had no idea if he would wake up and how he would be if he did. To this day I still joke with him about remaining brain damage," he chuckled but it was a harsh noise. "Anyway, I visited him, after he got out of it. I knew about everything, the detox, the rehabilitation. I promised him that as long as he remained clean he was welcome on my crime scenes and I meant it. He… Sherlock is a friend, or at least I consider him one. I'm not just using him for his brains."

"He has a magnetic personality," John agreed.

"When he wants to show it," Greg agreed. "But that was not all that happened after Sherlock's second lapse. You've met with Mycroft Holmes, right?"

John snorted. "Met, got kidnapped."

Greg gave a snort of his own. "Nice to know his methods have not changed. Anyway, you noticed that he and his assistant are both dangerous men."

"I met the female assistant, Anthea I believe she called herself."

"You are lucky. The other one…" Greg shuddered. "I would trust that man with my life, I'll tell you this much. But while Sherlock was in detox the older Holmes and that man-made sure that those responsible for supplying the drugs Sherlock consumed were destroyed. They brought that entire network to its knees, from the people who owned the labs down to the last distributor. And after they were done taking them down gave me all the credit. Don't misunderstand me, I did work closely with them but I did not deserve it. Mycroft thought otherwise. It was his way of thanking me for helping his brother."

John was left staring. "I think I read about that case of yours. That is… I don't really know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just know that in a few weeks I might drop by unexpectedly again."

"Another drug bust?"

"I like keeping Sherlock on his toes," Greg responded. "A precaution if you will. I know he gets regular blood tests, his brother arranged that one."

"I'll keep an eye out, just in case," John said.

Lestrade nodded.

"Do you know why though?"

"Why what?"

"Why would he take drugs?" John asked, genuinely curious. "You must have asked him at one point."

Greg stared at him. "He said he was bored."


	83. Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

They noticed his appearance almost a day after he made contact with Molly Hooper. They did not usually keep a close watch on the woman with the huge crush on Sherlock but Mycroft had been especially paranoid lately, so much that both his assistants did everything to help him relax just a bit. So they posted a new lab assistant there who noticed how the new IT guy was paying unusually frequent visits to the cat loving woman. So they watched carefully, bugged the lab during the night and in two days they knew that Molly had a love interest. A closer look at the man's background had a certain green-eyed wizard alarmed, as the person that approached Molly was not real.

"We have a face," he told Anthea, who frowned at him when she saw him texting Mycroft.

"That's Moriarty?" she asked, staring at the image of the slim, pale man on the screen. They had pictures of him from every angle and some rather impressive close ups. A more careful study of the pair had even gotten them a sample of DNA and prints from the man they were trying catch. "He does not seem impressive."

The wizard looked from her to the screen. "What did you really expect? Horns and a tail? Bat wings? A sign declaring to the world 'Beware Madman'? Perhaps evil cackling? It's making a comeback I hear. "

Anthea rolled her eyes. "Your humour needs work. No, I meant that he looks rather… geeky. I was expecting someone more… muscular, manlier maybe. He could easily pass as a student."

The wizard paused at his task. He knew what the woman meant. At the end of his reign, Voldemort had been a monster inside and out. What with his snake-like creatures and red eyes, he had been the stuff nightmares were made off. Surprisingly though, when he had been younger he had not been afraid of the Dark Lord's façade after his regeneration. If anything he had been relieved by it. No, what he sometimes had were night terrors about had the face of Tom Marvolo Riddle. When the evil wizard had been a teenager, with his handsome features, suave manners, silver tongue and charming façade. That had been a monster that no one could be safe from. No one had expected him to be a serial killer. Then he compared Tom with Jim. No, if Jim looked like a monster he would not have been as alarmed by the self-proclaimed 'consulting criminal'.

"Evil doesn't always have an ugly face," he finally told her. "It's because he looks so damn pathetic that you should be more afraid of him."

"I guess you're right," she said. "You seem quite knowledgeable about this."

"I did not get this position I have now due to my handsome face, you know. I've faced monsters before."

"And how did your monster look?" Anthea asked, proving she could be insightful.

"Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, handsome beyond words. You would have fallen for him easily."

"Better looking than you?"

The wizard laughed. "Like a Hollywood actor really."

"And what did he do? Become a serial killer?"

"Initially, yes. Then he tried his hand at genocide."

Anthea shuddered. "What happened to him?" she asked after a while.

"Me," the green-eyed man replied with a dangerous smirk.

She spared a look at Moriarty again. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied and he nodded.


	84. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

John could feel it, like a noose tightening around his neck. It was not Sherlock's fault, not even his fault. He was back to having patients and he got all the needed rush of adrenaline because of Sherlock. There were cases, people coming to find Sherlock at 221b, or asking them to meet up outside, in banks, jewellery stores and one bakery even.

More often than not Sherlock would turn them down. Apparently a headless body in Thames and a case of missing family jewellery were boring. It was during that time that John saw the eccentric genius turn away about ninety percent of cases that came to him from word of mouth. As it was he only fount thirty percent of Lestrade's cases were interesting to his roommate and even then he found them only mildly so. The doctor suspected that Sherlock tagged along for half of them only to annoy Greg's team, and especially Anderson; he had a serious dislike about the forensic scientist of Scotland Yard.

He referenced a couple of cases on his blog, out of boredom really and because some were interesting, if a bit morbid. Yet Sherlock was getting restless with it all. He had seen the bullet-holes on the wall, centred around and inside a smiley face. Mrs. Hudson had not been amused to see the damage to her tapestry. John on the other had not been amused to see Sherlock handling his gun. He had not yelled at him (that would do him no good). Instead he had taken the gun and cleared it from prints. Sherlock had congratulated him on his foresight, making Watson was getting used to his roommate and all his quirks. He also noticed that the two of them were starting to develop a sort of co-dependant bond that had the potential to be very dangerous.

He did not think he was paranoid because he could see the same unrest in Sherlock. That was not necessarily a good thing but he was going to take it that way. Otherwise Mrs. Hudson's wall would have more holes in it.


	85. Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

There was a knock on the door before the green-eyed wizard stormed inside. Mycroft motioned him to wait a moment as he finished his call.

"… I assure you, sir, that we are more than happy with how the joint mission turned out. Your agents were excellent professionals."

 _"We look forward to working with you again, especially given the results,"_ the person on the other end of the video-call said in an American accent.

The call ended two minutes later with mutual pleasantries.

"CIA?" the wizard asked.

"Yes, Hendel was rather grateful with our help. Enough about them, what has you so energetic,  _Oliver_?" Mycroft asked.

"Moriarty made contact," the wizard replied and all jovial mood bled away from the Muggle’s face.

"With Sherlock? When?"

"Earlier today,"  _Oliver_ stated. "He started a game with your brother. We tried to stop it from starting in the first place but…" he shook his head, his eyes burning with anger. There was power there, shimmering under the surface, begging to be let out.

Mycroft knew that if he gave the word, Moriarty would die. The wizard would hardly need incentive. But there was a bigger picture here and that was the only thing keeping his assistant in check.

"He's taking hostages all over town, leaving a trail of evidence, mocking Sherlock to follow them and solve the case. The hostages are strapped with bombs and some mysteries have a time limit. So far one woman died from a heart attack and they have managed to save a little girl. They're all over the city."

What he did not say was that the little game of hide and seek he had played with Sherlock was getting out of hand. But that was obvious by this point. The wizard knew that his boss would want all this contained and if Sherlock failed to deliver then he would step in. What that failure would be and how many people would die before that was a question he did not want to pose because he would not like the answer the older of the Holmes siblings would give him.

"How?" Mycroft asked, voice raising enough to show the anger contained within. "How on earth did he manage to get close enough?"

"Molly Hooper," the wizard replied.

"Yes, we knew he was posing as her boyfriend," Mycroft scowled. "She finally instigated a meeting between them to make my brother jealous?"

"I believe Moriarty did that, using her and making her think she did it."

"Yes, he loves moving his pieces around. My brother?"

"Under careful watch. We have eyes all over the city and extra people looking over Sherlock and Watson. We also planted cameras and bugs in their apartment again."

"And by we...?"

"I meant me,"  _Oliver_ said. "It's too sensitive a matter to trust another. And this time the equipment will actually remain undetected for a while, long enough to actually be of some use."

"We wait a bit longer then."

"And if Sherlock doesn't deliver?"

"Then it's your move. If you notice him take risks just for the thrill of it, same orders. Moriarty might be interesting, but not on my brother's expense."

"You have a skewed view of what's interesting," the wizard informed him.

"One of my flaws," Mycroft admitted.

 _Oliver_ had nothing to say to that.


	86. The Second Most Dangerous Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

Colonel Sebastian Moran was not a man he one wanted to meet in a dark alley. John had heard rumours about him, even back when he was in training. He was ambitious, strong, vicious and bloodthirsty, a dangerous combination for a man allowed to hold a gun. John had been fresh out of training when he first and last saw the man. He had been a Colonel, but not in Watson's unit. He had even then a crazed glint in his eye and his temper was an ugly thing.

John recalled seeing the aftermath of the incident that drove Moran out of the army. Not quite a dishonourable discharge, though he would have been had he not disappeared, becoming a gun for hire to those who sought out his services. Moran had been after their intended target, a warehouse housing extremists and an armoury that could become a potential problem. They had heard over the radio what happened when Moran, defying orders, led his unit in that place without someone to back them up, without enough ammunition or intelligence as to what they would be facing. His soldiers had balked, not wanting to follow such an illogical order from their superior. Moran shot one of them in the head. The sound of the gun firing had been horrible to hear because of what it meant. It had also been the last time they had heard of the Colonel. John’s unit arrived at the scene afterwards, to find the warehouse empty of weapons and everyone, friends and enemies dead, Moran missing. It had been during John’s first tour and it had been one of the worst memories he had even after two more tours, after getting shot even.

* * *

 

Humans were bigger monsters than anything else out there.

It was what Mycroft Holmes’ assistant believed after entering the magical Community, fighting in a war and later, when he joined the Secret Services. Vampires, Werewolves, Incubi, Wendigo, Giants, just could not help their nature. But humans did not have that natural drive that demand for blood, they did not have the excuse that it was in their nature to hunt and kill. And the wizard had encountered many monsters, magical and none. One of them was a killer for hire. He had seen his work in Romania when he first joined the Secret Services, heard whispers about the man’s past in the British army but he had never been ordered to track that man down. Oh, he kept tags on some of his most obvious work in a discreet manner as to not step on any of his superior’s toes. He knew that it paid to be informed.

When he first heard whispers of a consulting criminal he also started looking for Sebastian Moran. It had been a hunch that paid off because when Moriarty’s name did surface, Moran’s did as well. Never far behind, never away from violent crimes. Sometimes innocents that were targeted for money or sport, sometimes other criminals that needed to be punished or made examples for others, Moran was there.

“Would you call him your nemesis? Or neo-nemesis if you will, I know you’ve had your share of them,” Mycroft asked him one evening when they had been discussing Moriarty’s closest and most trusted accomplices.

“I don’t like that characterization,” the green eyed man told his boss.

“You kept tags on him,” Mycroft pointed out.

The wizard smiled. “Don’t you keep tag of anyone dangerous or potential dangerous?”

“Hm, I do. But I’m paranoid like that.”

“So am I.”

Mycroft gave a nod. “Well, seems like your paranoia paid off.”

“Hm, it did. I don’t like that Moran’s getting closer to England,” the wizard muttered.

“We have confirmation then?”

“He was sighted in Prague just two days ago.”

“Then he could already be in London,” Mycroft said. “I want him tracked down. That man is too dangerous to be left out of our sight.”

“I’m on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Took a few liberties with Moran’s story line.


	87. Watching the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

They had intercepted the feed that was sent to Sherlock and Scotland Yard. They were in Mycroft's office. The older of the Holmes brothers had his back turned to the screen, not because the images disturbed him, but because his eyes were burning from the strain. They were going on thirty six hours without sleep, both him and his assistants.

The entire city was on high alert and his people worked around the clock. They had already prevented one woman from being strapped into a bomb-vest and there was thick security around targets such as the Palace and the Parliament or Downing Street, wards or no wards. Those were areas they could not afford to have compromised. So they watched and waited. Mycroft, just like Sherlock, had his own informants, his very own network of people under close observation. But unlike his brother, Mycroft and his people knew who some of Moriarty’s men were.

“Just like you said, we had a positive sighting for Moran,” Anthea said to the green eyed man standing next to her.

“Where?” the wizard asked.

“We found his signature in a home invasion gone wrong type of case. He entered via Ireland and is making his way to London,” Anthea said.

The raven haired man nodded. “He has not arrived yet. Or if he has he’s not approached Jim Moriarty, not directly.”

“He’s still playing boyfriend to that girl at Saint Bart’s’,” the Muggle woman asked.

“He’s still toying with Sherlock,” Mycroft said from behind them.

Neither of his assistants started.

“I want updates on the situation. If you find anything at all, run it by me. I’ll tell you what and if we’re going to share information with the police,” Mycroft warned the room at large. “The last thing we need is to spread panic. We are at a sensitive time. A single sign of weakness will harm us more than you can imagine.” He met his magical assistant’s eyes. “If possible, we help my brother. If he’s a hindrance, we work around him. Carry on,” he said and left the room.

“He’s tense,” Anthea remarked.

“Yes, he must be.”

She stared at him. “You’ve known him longer. Is Moriarty that dangerous? We could take him out. Just come near enough and …”

“And take him out?” the wizard asked.

The woman nodded.

“Hm, that is simple, but also sloppy,” Mycroft’s assistant told her. “There’s a bigger picture and that doesn’t involve just Sherlock and Moriarty, or their games, or even London.”

“With him there’s always a bigger picture,” Anthea sighs.

“We’ve got another one!” came the call from some of the operators. “It’s a child!”

A dark look crossed the wizards face.

“What a sick man,” Anthea muttered angrily and walked over to her colleague.

But the wizard ignored her in favour of another subordinate. “You! I want a list of all people that had the explosives that made up those bomb-vests now.”

“Yes sir!”

The least he could do was put those idiots out of business. It was out of pettiness really. But seeing the child on that on line feed… If Sherlock did not save her he would take out Moriarty himself, orders be damned. You just did not involve kids in adult games. In the wizard’s book, all bets were off now. If he saw Moriarty and his minions, they would die. Mycroft would understand and probably condone his actions, after his initial displeasure passed.

* * *

 

He was still stewing in his anger when he went to give the man that was essentially the British Government his report.

“If looks could kill,” Mycroft commented when he saw the wizard in his office. “Shut the door.” He reached for the report and his own eyes darkened. “A child, huh? Did my brother…”

“He was on time,” the green eyed man said. “But that does not matter to me.”

Mycroft pinned him with a hard look. “You want them dead.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not allowed to just hunt them down,” was the quick command. “I don’t doubt you could find them. I never doubted your abilities, Harry.”

“Don’t…”

“I will use your name if it makes you listen.”

“He got a child strapped to a bomb,” the wizard seethed.

“I know. But we can’t just take him out. He’s one head of the Hydra, Harry. We cut this head off, and then we won’t know what the others will do. We don’t know if he has an apprentice, a successor, how he started, who are his supporters. There are still a lot of gaps, despite the surveillance.”

“I know all that! Just…” the raven haired male took a deep breath. “It just made my temper rise. It’s been a while since someone got under my skin this much. Won’t happen again.”

“That just won’t do,” Mycroft told him. “I never wanted you to change so don’t know. I think I am level headed enough for the both of us.”

The wizard laughed. “Yes, you are better at creating masks than I am.”

“What makes you think I am not calm?” Mycroft asked.

“Despite what you want the rest of the world out there to believe,” Harry told him, ” You and I are not so different. You might be a better tactician at the end of the day, and you can better handle your temper, but you’re still human, Mycroft. And at times, you are more human than me.”

“Funny, that’s what I think about you,” the Muggle replied. “Minus the tactical genius. You are a man of action, not thought.”

The wizard chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth?”

Mycroft watched him. “Do you need a minute?”

The green eyed man shook his head. “I better get out there. I’ll keep you informed if we have any news.” He eyed the paperwork on the desk.

“Yes,” Mycroft had a look of distaste. “Just because Moriarty wants to play games, the rest of the world won’t stop moving.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”


	88. The Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

If a horn had been blaring noisily there would have been less commotion in the office. The usually calm atmosphere was somehow broken as the network in charge of tracking down and keeping an eye on the consulting detective and his sidekick / friend/ roommate had failed.

Their 'eyes' lost sight of John Watson and focused immediately on Sherlock until the genius left 221b in a hurry and dodged his surveillance soon after.

"I'd congratulate him on his ability to give us the slip if I wasn't feeling like throttling the bloody bastard," Anthea remarked.

"If anyone ought to be doing any throttling, it's going to be me," Mycroft cut in. "My prerogative for sharing the same DNA as he." He was the one standing amidst all the chaos, still and for all appearances unconcerned.

Yet his wizard assistant only had to glance around the room and at the man's tight fists to gauge Mycroft's true state of mind.

"Find them," was Mycroft's parting order before he left the room.

The wizard gave a nod, as he ended the phone call he had been making. "I just hang up on Greg. He’s now aware that both of them are missing. It's a long shot but he will have London's finest out on the streets looking for Sherlock and John.

" _Timothy,"_ Anthea addressed the raven haired man, “Where are you going?" she asked when she saw him inching towards the exit.

"I'm going to see to Mycroft. Text me when you get anything. Try to cross-reference possible locations with abandoned buildings, public areas and locals that we know Moriarty or his people have connections to or where sighted more than once," he told her and hurried after his boss.

* * *

 

The wizard caught up with Mycroft Holmes on a staircase that led to an emergency exit (a false one at that to confuse intruders), finding the man with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a lit up cigarette.

"Now how is this productive?" he asked.

Mycroft scoffed at him. "This is me holding myself back from firing the lot of them for their sheer incompetence."

 _Timothy_ rolled his eyes. He just reached over and took the cigarette from Mycroft's fingers and brought it to his lips, taking a deep drag.

It was the other man's turn to look and the Muggle arched an eyebrow when a ring of smoke left the wizard's mouth and then a second one before the cigarette was offered back to him.

"Why thank you," Mycroft drawled with sarcasm. "I see you're not afraid of my germs."

The wizard grinned. "No germ is stupid enough to approach you."

"Don't I wish so?"

"We'll find him Mycroft. Alive," he added.

"And what about the good doctor? Will he make the cut? I shudder to imagine what Sherlock's going to be like if Watson falls victim to this game he and Moriarty have going on for them."

The duo fell silent for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth. Neither of them commenting on why Mycroft did not just light up a second one, or why the wizard did not do it himself.  _Timothy_ simply vanished the ashes when necessary.

"I need a drink," Mycroft said when they were finished.

"I'd join you if you say you won't be going to Diogenes Club for it. All the silence and stillness there creeps me out."

Mycroft stared at him. "I'll hold you to that."

"Ready to go back in there?"

Holmes shook his head. "I'll be in my office. They aren't at their most productive when I'm there looking over their shoulders."

The wizard scoffed. "You enjoy that."

"Not today."

"I'll go see Anthea for an update,"  _Timothy_ offered.

"Do that."


	89. Pool Party, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story  
> Chapter Te

"We've got them!"

The green eyed wizard hurried his footsteps till he was right by Anthea's side. He peered at the computer screen she was looking at. "We have?" he inquired.

"We had one confirmed sight of a male fitting Sebastian Moran's description. It was a fleeting shot by one of the CCTV feeds," Anthea told him and told one of the technicians available to pull up the feed and play it again. It was definitely Moran on the screen.

"That's a public pool,"  _Timothy_ commented.

Anthea nodded. "We already sent one of the police cars your friend Lestrade availed to us but they reported nothing suspicious," she told him.

"That means nothing. Moriarty can do subtle. We need someone more competent to check out that spot," the raven haired man remarked. "Text Mycroft about a possible lead. I'm going to that scene. If I see something I'll let you know and call Lestrade." He pulled said device from his pocket and gave it a little wave.

"You're just going to turn up there?"

"Well, I do have a blind date with an assassin," he told her. "You keep looking for Sherlock!" he called out even as he made his way out of the room.

Anthea sighed but did as asked of her. Seeing Moran just was not enough evidence.

* * *

 

So what if he cheated and used spells to track the errant duo down the moment he was out of Mycroft's building and prying eyes. Time was once again of essence (it was curious and ironic how much of his time he spent looking after Sherlock Holmes and running to his rescue). Because it was probable that Moriarty had gotten his hands on John, or Sherlock or, worse, the both of them. And because it was Moriarty, he was not about to underestimate the situation, he would go all out if he had to, because Mycroft would expect nothing less.

And he found them, or at least he found Sherlock via that tracking spell he had weaved around the genius the last time he had gotten kidnapped mid case. Ten minutes later he was at the same public pool building that Moran had been sighted by Mycroft's CCTV network. He avoided being seen by the cameras because there would be no way to explain to his colleagues how he had closed the distance so fast. So he went invisible before he even approached the building. Unlike the Muggle’s who had tried before, it was easier for him to find out if there were people inside.

" _Homenum Revelio!_ "

The charm was second nature by now. The results were unsurprising.

"If Sherlock is here then John has to be nearby and Moriarty as well. Where Moriarty is, Moran follows," the wizard mused to himself. That was four people and the spell had revealed there were four more people in the premises. He had to even the odds before he even attempted to get closer to the first four.

It was relatively easy for the invisible wizard to break in and track each person down. Two were on the roof, tasked with patrolling the area. With a softly muttered ' _Imperio!'_  the wizard knew their orders, names and every plan they had been privy too. After that he left them there, the Unforgivable still strong on them. They were his puppets now. He found the second pair inside of the building, at the rafters of the benches all around the pool area. They were well hidden and he had to track the red beam from their riffles to see them. And those weapons were turned towards Sherlock and John and stayed on them with the intent to kill as soon as Moriarty gave them the signal. This would be trickier to fix but not impossible. Moriarty's attention was focused entirely on the younger Holmes, looking excited for the face off between them, even though John Watson was half way between the two of them, wearing a vest with enough explosives to be a danger to anyone around him. He did not even care that Sherlock had a gun (John's gun) trained on him, ready to shoot and possibly kill him. Once again the Muggle criminal proved that he had a unique brand of insanity, the likes of which the wizard had last encountered in Bellatrix Lestrange.


	90. Pool Party, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was odd, seeing the perverse sort of chemistry that existed between the consulting detective and the consulting criminal. For all the flack Sherlock got from the Scotland Yard detectives, the genius held nothing of the madness in Moriarty's eyes.

He left his puppets the way they were standing previously, safe in the knowledge that none of them would use their guns to shoot Sherlock or the good doctor. Granted, Watson's biggest trouble was the bomb strapped to his chest. He would deal with the good doctor soon enough but first...

The tense tableau broke at the sound of a ringing phone. Everyone stilled.

"I have to take this," Moriarty was saying to Sherlock, looking a bit like a kid whose mother told him not to run in the house. He turned his back on them, uncaring of the gun held in Sherlock's hands (he would have to tell Mycroft that Sherlock tended to borrow John's gun so that they could be prepared just in case the genius got in trouble with it). The conversation Moriarty had was short and apparently whatever he was being told did not agree with him.

Green eyes focused on the man. Moriarty was unpredictable and anything could happen now. He had to be ready.

The phone call ended the self proclaimed consulting criminal faced John and Sherlock. Something that resembled a mockery of regret appeared on his face.

"I'm afraid game's over kiddies. Something’s come up." He eyed Sherlock. "You know how these things are.”We'll have to pick up where we left some other time. Sherlock, it's been fun. John... Eh, same I guess. See you later boys!" he called out and backed away.

Sherlock seemed like he wanted to go after him but hesitated because of the guns still trained on them.

It was his chance to get Moran, the wizard realised. He could spot the former Colonel; he had yet to join Moriarty. With a speed he had did not display often, he Apparated away from the spot he was crouching in and soundlessly appeared right next to Moran. His sudden arrival startled the man momentarily. But then the assassin got his bearings and reached for his gun. The raven haired man charged.

From then on it was a physical battle and it drew the attention of the duo downstairs. Especially when the wizard, combining magic and wandless magic, managed to propel Moran towards the rail and drop him into the pool.

"Who was that?" John asked. "Sherlock?"

"Lose the vest!" the wizard ordered as he jumped over the rail and landed into a crouch on the tiles near the pool. "We wouldn't want you to suddenly go 'boom'."

"What about the guns trained on us?" Sherlock demanded.

"Hold that thought," the green eyed man told him as he dodged the knife Moran was holding. Moriarty's man was out of the pool and after him.

John stared askance at the two people fighting. He recognised both of them, of course, for entirely different reasons.

"John, stop gawking," Sherlock chided him, though his voice held nothing of his usual arrogance and bite. Instead the genius helped the doctor take off the vest.

"Why did you put the gun away?" the shorter man asked.

"If he's here then chances are he did incapacitate them," the younger Holmes said. "He's efficient." He said that word like it was an insult.

John tossed the explosives as far way from him as he could. He was about to urge Sherlock that they left the pool area when Moran got the drop on the hauntingly familiar green eyed man. Sherlock reached for the gun he had tucked away inside his coat.

The sound of a gunshot echoed in the pool, followed by a splash as the body dropped in the pool. Colouring the water already. Two more shots followed, to ensure the kill.


	91. Smoking Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"You shot him."  
When the calm observation did not get a reaction, Watson said it again, this time shock colouring his voice.  
"You shot him!"  
Sherlock gave his roommate an unimpressed look, even as his arm dropped from his pocket; he did not manage to get his (John's really but he could borrow his roommates stuff if he wanted) gun out.  
"Yes, John, we all heard the gunshots and watched the body drop. Not an impossible feat really." He looked around the pool area with distaste. "Certainly not the first body you've seen because of a gunshot wound,"  
John spared an incredulous look at Sherlock's callous remark and then went back to eyeing the man he served with. He looked and acted vastly different to the calm, if distant man he had met in the deserts. The suit, the blank look, the closed off face and the casual manner he took down Sebastian Moran… He chanced a glance at the body still floating in the pool and the red tint of the water. He glanced back at the Sergeant whose name was a fake. He was looking at him the way Sherlock looked at Anderson.  
"Yes, John. I shot down an assassin," the green eyed man said. "Would the two of you like to go outside now? I believe detective inspector Lestrade is waiting for you along with a few good people from Scotland Yard. He even brought shock blankets."  
Sherlock whirled around to give full attention to his brother's assistant. "You know," he stated.  
The man smirked. "I know where all the bodies lie," he confirmed. "Now off you go." He even made a shooing motion with his hand.  
"You're infuriating," Sherlock told him as he stormed off.  
But John lingered behind.  
The wizard faced him fully.  
"You're Mycroft's man?" the doctor said, still finding it hard to believe it. The soldier he had met and this person were polar opposites. "Why were you there with us?"  
"Mission," the green eyed man replied. "A classified mission and because of that ambush it kind of … tanked. Not my proudest hour. Not that I regret blowing my mission to help the guys and gals we served with but… you get my drift, right?"  
John nodded although he really did not get it. Saving lives were what he did first and foremost. And he was still hung up on the details. "That person you impersonated…"  
This time the man smiled, almost indulgently. "A persona. Ask Sherlock about it. I have several identities as has he. The good sergeant you served with might actually make an appearance in the future or I might just kill him off." He shrugged. "I never did thank you though, did I? Not face to face. "You saved my life. You saved a lot of lives that day in the expense of your own. You're a magnificent doctor Watson and a brave soldier. It was an honour to serve with you, however briefly that was."  
Watson saw the offered hand and clasped it, not thinking twice about the handshake.  
"I guess I'll be seeing you more? Around I mean," the retired doctor asked.  
"As long as you're around Sherlock Holmes I'll definitely be seeing you."  
John winced. "The cameras creep me out."  
The raven haired man smiled.  
"So," John said, "Don't suppose you're going to join an old army comrade and a few other fellows from out the unit for drinks?"  
The man whose name John still did not know smirked. "Mm, not a bad idea. I'll be in touch with you doctor," he said. "Now, don’t you have to track down Sherlock? All those police officers outside ... they're trigger happy lately and..."  
"Sherlock is Sherlock," John muttered and hurried away.  
The wizard, Timothy, stared at the body of Sebastian Moran. "I'm not fishing that out," he muttered to himself.  
Feeling his phone vibrate, he promptly answered it.  
"Yes, Master of the Universe?"  
Mycroft seemed un-amused. "Are you trying to turn me into a smoker again?"  
"Just earning my drinks again," the green eyed man replied. "I've done my part here."  
"I expect to see your report first, then you'll get your alcohol."  
"Of course," Timothy replied.


	92. Game Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

John left the pool and stepped outside to the sight of a dozen police cars and three ambulances as well as a coroner's van that was probably there to collect Sebastian Moran's corpse. Not that the officers knew that just yet. Or maybe they did, John could see Mycroft or… _Timothy_  telling them just why they would need it and how many body bags to bring even. The doctor spotted Sherlock at Greg Lestrade's side, near the second ambulance. One of those hideous orange blankets was dropped around his shoulders the minute he was next to them.

"John," Greg said his name and clasped a hand on his shoulder. "How are you?"

"Still in one piece," the doctor replied, patting his torso down as if to confirm that there was no longer a bomb strapped to him.

"A rather obvious conclusion really," Sherlock cut in.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade exclaimed, obviously appalled at the callousness the genius displayed.

But all John did was roll his eyes. He did not take offence since he had been inside, had seen first hand just how worried Sherlock had been for him and how he had turned up to take him back, even at a danger to his own life.

"No, let him. I'd be more worried if he was not acting like his normal, charming self," Watson said, making the detective snort.

"You were quite fast to get here," Sherlock remarked. "I know you had been looking for us…"

"It was your brother's man," Lestrade said. "He called me and told me were to find you two. After he finished lecturing me for the two patrol cars which passed by this place and thought it abandoned."

"Yes, he is talented like that," Sherlock muttered.

"I remember the last time you were kidnapped you know," Greg told the genius detective. "We were lucky the body count this time around wasn't as high."

John looked startled. "Body count? Did you prosecute him?"

Greg offered him a disbelieving look. "Way above my pay check, John. I would never be able to form a case against Mycroft Holmes' people and especially this one. Nor I would want to, not when he keeps and eye on this fellow here," he pointed at Sherlock, making the man try and look even more disinterested.

"I'm not some errant child!"

"You're right, you aren't one. But you sure act like it," John told his roommate. "I'm sure all kinds of help are welcome," he told Lestrade.

Sherlock though was not in the mood to hear them converse. "Do we have to give statements? I would very much prefer to be at Baker Street."

"Yes, John, you had better see the EMT's first," Lestrade told the doctor. "I'll have a police car take both of you home."

"No need, we can take a cab," John refused.

"Or a limo," Sherlock drawled.

"That's…" John started saying but the consulting detective nodded his head towards the direction of a black car that was parked just outside the police tape. He watched as that woman who worked for Mycroft and had introduced herself as Anthea, stepped out of the car and leaned against it.

"Mycroft," Sherlock spat the word out like it was a curse, but it lacked the usual bite.

"You just had an assassin aiming a rifle at you, he's allowed to feel concern," John told him. "Why don't you go and wait by Anthea's side while I get prodded and questioned and pretend to like it?"

"She's boring," the genius replied.

"Deal with it," John countered, sounding stern. With that he headed to the paramedics.

Lestrade was about to say something to Sherlock when the stretcher came out, the one with the body bag containing Sebastian Moran's body.

"Well," the DI muttered. "I'm glad that man is effective.

"Yes, if you check Interpol's records you will find him and the others on their database," Sherlock told him.

"I'll do that. You go and get some rest," Lestrade told him. "You and John need it, Sherlock. And do try to keep out of trouble for a while?"

The genius scoffed. "That's boring."

"Boring will be nice, for a bit. It won't last, unfortunately," the detective told him.

Sherlock did not reply to that comment.


	93. Rambling, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

It was with a resigned sigh that he crossed the threshold of the upscale bar. It was not an exclusive Club like 'Diogenes Club', but it had that same vibe and the décor was similar, as was the clientele. At the entrance his wild hair garnered him a disapproving glare, but his top quality wardrobe more than made up for it so the wizard got in without having to resort to memory charms. He found Mycroft Holmes at a table close to the stage were a pianist was filling the room with relaxing music. He slipped in the seat next to his boss.

"I take it you finished the report?" Mycroft asked.

"Waiting for you to check your inbox. And I saw to Sherlock and John's return home. They're both fine."

Mycroft nodded. "Well then. It is time for those drinks we talked about. Does malt whiskey agree with you or would you rather cognac?"

"Your tastes lean towards the classics?"

"A safe bet after the day we had. Also, I do not think something stronger would agree with me, or my mood," Mycroft replied.

A waiter came almost as if summoned by thought. The two placed their orders and a while later received them.

"Shall we toast to something or would that be crass?" the wizard asked.

Mycroft seemed amused by the suggestion. "I cannot find something worth celebrating for. This," he raised his glass slightly, "Is just an indulgence. Nothing more."

"Like when you smoke?"

Mycroft sighed. "That is my vice, not alcohol. In my position, I cannot have a vice as damaging as that."

"You're also a gambler."

"I don't gamble."

The wizard smiled. "You do when you deduce something."

"I'm ... rarely wrong."

"You were about to say 'never' weren't you?"

"I'm not that arrogant," Mycroft stated.

"You are," his assistant replied. "You just pretend that you aren't. Sherlock is exactly like that."

"Yes, mimicry is the most obvious form of flattery, after all."

"I bet he won't like hearing that," the green eyed man mused out loud.

"He wouldn't," Mycroft agreed.


	94. Rambling, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Their glasses (first ones for both of them) were still half full when they stumbled into the next subject of their conversation.

"Why did you do it?"

The green eyed man blinked. "You will have to be more specific. There are many things I've done that deserve an explanation."

"I know you never followed your kind because you were suffocated by their attention and their neediness. Had you been with them they would always surround their Saviour, never thinking for themselves, never letting you live," Mycroft stated. "And that's the bare bones of that matter. I know this much. No, I want to know what first made you take a life."

"Well... That's a heavy thing to ask. Why do you wish to know?"

"I was trying to determine if I could pull the trigger some day."

The wizard stared at his boss. "Again, heavy discussion this one." He took a sip from his drink. "How on earth did you get in this mood?"

"I was wondering about the lengths I've gone to help my cause and my brother and how far I could still go."

"Just because you do some of your best work covered by shadows, like Moriarty, does not mean you are like him. You've had people killed," the wizard stated bluntly, "But never because you wanted the thrill of it."

"I am not an idiot! Of course I do not see myself reflected in that... man," Mycroft sounded almost affronted.

"My apologies. You seemed oddly reluctant to ask."

"People kill for different reasons. Some, like Moriarty and Moran do kill for profit and sport. I do not really see the appeal. And you are a man of values. I wanted to know what made you finally do it."

"Academic curiosity then?"

Mycroft simply stared at him.

The raven haired man sighed a bit. "Always the hard questions. If you must know, the first death I caused, however unwittingly..."

"Do not say your parents."

"I was going for my first Defence professor."

"It wasn't in your file."

The wizard chuckled. "I bet it wouldn't be. Dumbledore was many things, but he was very protective of his school and his kids."

"You killed one of your professors?"

"He turned to dust, ugly and painful death. Almost died myself."

"Magic?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes, not something I understand myself so I cannot explain it to you either."

"And?"

"That's it. He was choking me..."

Mycroft glared at him slightly at that bit of omission.

"... and then he wasn't."

"Age?"

"Eleven."

Mycroft stared. "You must one day recount me your adventures."

"Why?"

"So that I can feel better about Sherlock's exploits. No wonder you can keep up with him!"

The wizard chuckled.


	95. Rambling, part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"It doesn't count."

Their glasses were almost empty. The green eyed man was considering a refill, especially if the other wanted to their night to go on with the vibe it currently was.

"Pardon me, but I wasn't paying attention and I think I missed something."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, I could see that. We're both having refills," he stated. "And your 'first' as you say, at age eleven doesn't count. It was self defence."

"You want to know when I first killed for offence then."

"Obviously."

"You're in a morbid mood," he told the Muggle. "Why are you so curious?"

"Why are you evading?"

"Not exactly proud of taking a life," the wizard admitted.

"I've read your file at the Aurors... Not that it was long. You were with them very briefly and then focused everything on the relocation."

"Not every case I took was for the Aurors. And yes, I worked closely with the Department of Mysteries, here and in other countries with similar departments."

Mycroft nodded, his face a clear show that he was expecting the green eyed man to get on with it.

"Well," the wizard cleared his throat. "Two months into training, I get pulled out of class..."

"Which class?"

A quirk of lips. "On the Unforgivables, believe it or not. I get pulled out and sent to Kingsley's office. He was there, along with the head of the Auror department and the head of the Hit-Wizard Squads."

"Hm, Dark Lord, or Lady perhaps in training?"

"You're gambling again."

"Deducing," Mycroft stressed.

"None of that," the green eyed man replied. "Care to guess?"

"Were they guilty of anything?"

"Yes, human experimentation. A geneticist, wanted to suck the magic out of his daughter and shell it. Hardly imaginative, more than crazy."

"So you killed him."

"No, I killed his daughter."

Mycroft stared. "That... I did not see that coming."

The wizard signalled the waiter for refills.

"And the reason?" Mycroft asked.

"Her magic was killing her and everything it came into contact with. A last ditch effort to protect itself after all the torture. Does that count?"

"Not in my book."

"You're a tough audience."


	96. Rambling, part four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The next question came from the wizard, moments after the waiter left them with their second drink for the night.

"Why all these questions? Don't tell me you feel guilty for any orders you've given me?"

"Hardly," Mycroft replied.

"Then why? Are you considering a change in careers?" He said that with a touch of sarcasm, then he paused. "If you are..."

"Don't be ridiculous. The need was purely academic."

"Right."

A small pause from both of them as they revelled in the quiet and their drinks.

"Have you thought about it? Killing someone I mean," the wizard asked.

"Obviously."

"And?"

Mycroft stared at him. "Would you describe my thought process as logical?"

"You're one of the most analytical people I know. One of the smarter ones too, if not the smartest. And you can be ruthless," was the honest reply.

"Do I classify as a sociopath?"

"Only when you make it obvious."

Mycroft smiled at that reply. "And there lies my problem, my dear man. I, unlike my brother, can blend in. I'm a better actor and my mimicry of normal human reactions and behaviour is more natural."

"And you have the same blaze attitude about it Sherlock has."

Mycroft smiled. "Mother never seemed to care and father..." He frowned. "Genetics has nothing to do with how Sherlock or I turned up. It's a wonder really."

"So, would you or wouldn't you kill?"

"I'm more than capable. And I have a way to get away with it."

"Make that several," the green-eyed man remarked.

"Indeed," Mycroft agreed.

"What stops you from doing it? Certainly not social norms."

Mycroft shook his head. "This conversation is one of the weirdest I have been a part in for the longest of times. No, what stops me is fear."

"Fear?" the wizard asked.

"I already have enough power in my hands. But having over life and death of a person in the most literal sense... That's a dangerous thing to have, a whole new power trip. And a temptation I do not need."

"You're afraid you might get a taste for it?"

"Yes. But I could just as easily find it the most boring thing." Mycroft shrugged. "But since we are talking about murder, premeditated at that, and not a new hobby, I'm not willing to risk it."

"How... analytical of you."

"You can say sociopathic. I'm not going to hold it against you."

The wizard rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to do that."

"You do seem awfully unsurprised."

"Believe it or not, this is not the strangest talk of my life. Magic factors for some pretty weird things."

Mycroft conceded that to him.


	97. Rambling, part five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"Can you see yourself doing anything else?"

The wizard shot him an odd look. "All these questions? Trying to get rid of me? Had I not known better I would accuse Anthea's lovely long legs."

"You do know better," Mycroft chided. "And they are symmetrical, yes. And stop being ridiculous, you are irreplaceable."

"Because I'm the only wizard around?"

"Now you're being thick on purpose."

The green-eyed man grinned. "It's fun when you actually are responsive. You usually keep your face expressionless."

"Serves me well."

Mycroft sipped from his drink slowly, savouring the taste.

"It's not just because of your abilities. In fact I was sceptical at first."

"Were you? You never showed differently. What made you hesitate?"

"Magic is ... inexplicable to me," the Muggle admitted. "There are no rules with your abilities and that..."

"Your brain stumbles?" the wizard hazarded a guess. If deduction was one of Mycroft's most trusted abilities, magic allowed for huge gaps in logic.

"Not how I would word it, but yes," Mycroft replied. "It's disconcerting and unpredictable. Though generally your people are rather predictable. Once I met a few wizards, saw them interact, I was able to cover my handicap quite nicely. There still was a margin of error greater than I would like though. Why are you smiling like that?"

"Your brain must be a very interesting place."

"Yes, it is."

The wizard chuckled. "Not acting modest tonight?"

"I don't need to be, it's just you and me."

"Does that mean that you trust me or that you don't consider me a threat?"

"I trust you."

The smile that comment got from the wizard was quite handsome.


	98. Rambling, part six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"I still have it."

The wizard had a blank look on his face at the random comment from Mycroft. He stole a glance at the man's liquor glass.

"I'm not even buzzed," the older of the Holmes brothers stated.

"Just a wordless comment on how random that was," the green-eyed man told him.

"I am aware that was random, you did not give me time to explain."

"I apologize then, carry on."

Mycroft let out a long-suffering sigh. "Do you remember when you were shot while covering me?"

"Vividly," the wizard replied, a hand flexing on his glass. "Why?"

"The blood was everywhere."

"I did not bleed that much, surely you exaggerate."

"Your tie got ruined," Mycroft continued as if uninterrupted. "It was soaked in your blood."

"You're saying you kept my tie."

"Yes."

The wizard blinked. "Should I be worried? Disturbed?"

"A normal person would be. Are you feeling either of those two?"

"Not really."

Mycroft pinned him with a hard stare. "What are you feeling then?"

A long pause.

"Flattered."

"As I thought you would."

"Don't sound so smug, Mycroft."

"Don't sound so fond, Harry."

"We should not avoid it," Mycroft diplomatically suggested. "This is by the way your way to gracefully bow out of this conversation now. Then we could both pretend we never started it. Though I am thinking that we should get it out of the way now, lest we have any future problems."

"It's dangerous territory."

"I am aware. And I'm not about to jeopardize our excellent work relationship just because of a whim. I do not give into whims, Harry. Nor am I prone to bouts of losing my control due to my emotions." He considered his empty glass. "Are you not curious?"

"About how we could be in bed? I have thought about it, yes."

"And? We've talked about murder; sex is a much more acceptable subject to discuss in public."

"Conversations with you are never easy, are they?"

Mycroft smiled. "Nothing worthwhile ever is. About your curiosity, are you willing to indulge?"


	99. Rambling, part seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"Now you're just teasing me," the wizard told him.

"Turnabout, Harry."

"You rarely play fair Mycroft."

The Muggle chuckled. "Your glass is empty."

"So is yours. What do you propose now?"

"We either get a refill, here, now, and this conversation goes no further," Mycroft suggested. "Or we both indulge our baser instincts."

"Shouldn't we talk about this?"

"What is there to discuss?"

The wizard's face was serious. "Expectations."

"Yes, we do need to get those out of the way. I am a very possessive man, fond of my indulgences."

"So am I."

"Despite your casual history?"

"Mycroft, are you telling me you might get jealous?"

"Maybe I am," the man admitted. "This cannot be casual."

"No, I dare say we are anything but casual," the wizard agreed. "What we are facing is a proper relationship then. Kind of sudden."

"Is it that sudden?" Mycroft wondered. "Perhaps."

"Is it because of the events earlier tonight?"

"We've been in similar situations before; it's not fear of death or anything silly like that."

"No," Harry agreed, "You do not scare that easily." He shook his head. "It feels rushed."

"But?"

"But it's also right."

"Excellent then." Mycroft stood, fixing his suit. "I will settle the tab tonight. Next outing is on you."

Harry arched an eyebrow.

The man who essentially was British Government leaned over him. It was closer than he usually stood but not close enough to make heads turn and look at them. His voice, when he next spoke to the green eyed wizard was intimate.

"I want to kiss you," Mycroft told him. "I want to feel you close to me, not because you are shielding me with your body but because you're aroused and can't wait to taste you. And I will take my time with you, testing your body to see and feel all of your reactions. Find things about your body even you don't know about. I want to find out what your skin smells like, how hard your muscles are under those fine suits, how long you can last before you orgasm. It's quite the long list Harry. And I hate to be kept waiting."

The wizard with every sentence grabbed his armrest tighter, glaring at the man teasing him. "That was evil of you."

"But it helped you make up your mind."


	100. Chapter 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

They took the car across town to reach the house Mycroft was staying in. They both looked composed as they exited the vehicle and headed inside, neither looking back or at each other as the driver sped away. Until the door was closed behind them.

After that Harry grabbed hold of Mycroft's wrist and pulled the other man closer. Mycroft went willingly, mashing their mouths together and kissing the green eyed man.

"My butler..."

"Asleep," the wizard replied. "And in the case he heard us and got up... I bet he would be extremely discreet."

"My bedroom is upstairs. We are not leaving a trail of clothes behind us," Mycroft stated and pulled the green eyed man close to him by the lapels of his suit. "I am a really private person and obsessively possessive."

"All part of your charm," the wizard told him.

"That was terribly sappy."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes Harry?"

"You talk too damn much."


	101. Chapter 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

He woke abruptly. His mind just left that state of blankness that it fell in whenever he was asleep and in the next moment his most dangerous weapon was active and ready for the day ahead of him. His eyes, still laden with sleep, took in the room. His eyes focused immediately in the clothes strewn across the floor (he recognised some of his own clothing articles as well as Harry's).

"Do you always wake up so abruptly?" came the wizard's voice from behind him.

The green eyed man had only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still dripping with water.

"Yes. And you are an earlier riser than me even," Mycroft commented.

"I went running for a bit and then borrowed your shower. Cleaning charms just don't cut it," the wizard stated.

"Yes, there is something cleansing about water."

"Are you going to run on a treadmill or are you going to get dressed and have breakfast?"

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "Should I be worried of your stalkerish ways? You seem to know my schedule."

He only got a grin in response from the other man.

"Are you getting up or am I joining you?" the wizard asked.

Mycroft took in the view of him, wet and naked and a vision of hard earned muscles and he actually pondered if it was worth going in. Getting bolder by the pause, Harry approached the bed and climbed on, leaning over the still reclining man, a lazy grin on his face.

Uncaring of the water dripping down from wet hair, Mycroft just pulled him closer, tugging the towel away and staring as all of Harry was bared to his gaze.

"So very tempting," Mycroft whispered.

"We've got plenty of time," the wizard told him as he nuzzled his neck.

There were patches of skin where the colour was still a bit red. Not quite a mark yet.

Mycroft felt lips teasing those same areas.

"You had better be able to hide those," he warned his lover.

"Of course," the green eyed man replied and return to teasing the skin there.


	102. The Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Nothing was out of place, not in his house and most certainly not in his bedroom. It was like the green eyed man never graced his bed. That was the realisation that Mycroft had when he went home after yet another day in the office. It went without saying that his working relationship with his assistant was unchanged. No one even suspected that there was anything at all between the two men. Just like Mycroft had expected. Not that anyone would mind. In fact he was willing to bet Anthea would be extremely amused. But gossip was a terrible habit and Mycroft hated being the centre of it. And because nothing seemed different was the reason why Mycroft believed that sleeping with the wizard was not a terrible idea. In fact, he planned on a repeat of it sometime in the future. The green eyed man had stated up front that he was not adverse to a repeat rendezvous.

"Especially if we go for drinks before hand. Or a meal. I'm not picky about that."

"Do you like the illusion of romancing it provides you?" Mycroft had questioned.

"No, I like that it reminds you that you can be human."

"Perish that thought."

"I'm serious, conversations with you are enjoyable."

"I know a great number of people who would disagree."

The wizard had smirked. "Well, you were not out to debate with me, or blackmail me, or manipulate me." He paused. "You were actually being a sociable human being instead of the British government."

"Now you are mocking me."

"You need it every now and then."

"I don't do conventional relationships," Mycroft stated.

"And I usually favour flexible partners."

"One night stands."

The wizard shrugged, unrepentant. "Conventional does nothing for me. It also does not last, not with the secrets I keep, not with the hours I work and the nature of it."

"And I know things about you," Mycroft mused.

"Like I know things about you," the green eyed man returned.

"You mean you wish for an arrangement between us?"

"That sounds horribly sordid. I like it!"

Mycroft chuckled. "That’s juvenile."

"You like it as well," the wizard accused him. "Do we have an accord?"

Rolling his eyes Mycroft had nodded.


	103. Scrutiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"You did something," Sherlock accused Mycroft the moment the oldest of the two stepped into 221b.

John looked up from his paper, cup of tea in hand. He took in the sight of the two siblings, Sherlock still in his night clothes and robe, Mycroft in a three piece suit and umbrella in hand. It was amusing just how different they were. Taking in the scowls on both their faces, they were also quite similar.

"Morning Mycroft, tea?" John asked as he stood.

Sherlock's brother shot him a grimace of a smile. "Good morning John, thank you but I just had breakfast."

"It shows," Sherlock muttered, earning a glare from his sibling.

"I have done nothing you might accuse me of," Mycroft chose to answer Sherlock's original comment. He would not touch the weighty comments or react to them. The pettiness alone made Sherlock sound like a five year old. He very much did not miss his brother when he was that age.

"You seem relaxed even though I know for a fact that the two people of interest entered the country yesterday and half the secret services are in alert because of them," Sherlock accused.

"Those two are insignificant," Mycroft warned him.

Sherlock snorted.

"They are also being handled as we speak," Mycroft added.

Sherlock continued looking at him, making Mycroft scowl.

"Why are you here then, Mycroft?" John cut in.

"Sherlock was not answering his phone again so I had to come in person," said the older of the brothers, sounding disgruntled. "Lunch with mother, tomorrow, I already emailed you the address. She requested your presence. Do not be late.'

"I'm busy," Sherlock told him.

"She threatened to cut your funding for the month," Mycroft returned. He did not stay to watch Sherlock's reaction.


	104. Family Lunch, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

A London cab and sleek black town car pulled up in front of the Four Seasons Hotel in London at precisely ten minutes before the two sibling riding the cars were to meet with their mother. Both of them were dressed impeccably and had blank expressions on their faces. Anthea was accompanying Mycroft that day and she followed the two Holmes brothers inside.

"Why did I let you convince me?" Sherlock muttered sullenly.

"Because for all your disdain you quite like both your allowance and your inheritance," Mycroft told him. "And Sherlock? If you do a runner, do tell me."

"So that you can join me?"

Mycroft snorted. "So I can throw you under the proverbial bus," he replied as he called the elevator.

"Prat."

"Brat."

They glared at each other and entered the elevator (Anthea an ever present shadow) together. When they reached the restaurant they both schooled their expressions to something more neutral. If there was one thing Wynnfrith Holmes hated most, was when her sons were fighting before a meal.

Anthea let them out first and headed for a table where she could watch them unobtrusively and away from the line of fire. Her green eyed co worker had warned her about these little get togethers and how intense they could get. He had been the one to arrange the meal (as usual) and he had given her one piece of advice: "Don't get close to Wynnfrith Holmes, do not get in her way, just stay away." She was planning to do just that. And of course enjoy the sight of the two siblings trying to be civil to each other, though Sherlock would have the most difficulty there.

"My god, she's wearing beige," Sherlock muttered. "I hate it when she wears open colours."

"She wants something from us," Mycroft agreed.

"Another marriage intervention?" the youngest muttered.

Mycroft grunted negatively. "She has not seen the Albinson’s, the Bancroft’s or the Kinnaston’s in a while and the Holt girls got married two months ago, while the Ledfort girl is underage."

"Think that will stop her?"

"Doubtful."

"Hope she focuses on you," Sherlock muttered.

"Back at you," Mycroft said under his breath. He took a deep breath and greeted the woman who gave birth to him when he locked eyes with her. "Mother. Good to see you," he told her as he kissed her cheek and then made way for Sherlock to dutifully do the same.

"Mycroft," she said back and she regarded her youngest with a stern look until he caved and kissed her cheek, just as stiffly as his older sibling.

"Mother," he said.

"Happy to see you are actually well," Madam Holmes told him. "What with how often you miss our lunches."

"A hectic schedule," Sherlock replied.

The look on her face showed him what she thought of his excuses. Mycroft just picked up the menu. He was tempted to look at the wine choices immediately but decided to be smart and not give his mother another thing to criticize.

"I see you are still playing detective," she said with disapproval.

Mycroft kicked his sibling under the table to make him keep quiet. Sherlock had a muscle twitch in his chin but otherwise took the hint.

"I see you already chose a wine and the 'Traditional Italian' cheese plate," Sherlock said instead.

"Yes, the selection is quite good," Wynnfrith Holmes said.

"We'll join you then," Mycroft told her. "Shall we keep it to plates or a full meal?"

"I could eat a three course meal," Sherlock added.

Their mother seemed to approve their choice (it meant spending more time together). She graced them with one of her rare smiles.

"Let us do just that," she told them.


	105. Family Lunch, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

It was not unusual for them to have one of them order for the rest. It was both an exercise in observation and deduction. They all knew what the others liked, but that differed according to their moods. And it was Sherlock's turn to order.

"From the antipasti a selection, the Artichoke Salad and Roasted Buffalo Mozzarella for the middle. Soup of the Day for mother," he levelled a look at Mycroft, "Green Tagliolini and the Pansotti for us. Then since none of us are in a mood for fish or sea food, the Porchetta, and two Scottish Beef Fillets. We are open to suggestions as far as the wine is concerned and to end this all a Summer Pudding, a Tiramisu and Sei Piccoli Peccati al Cioccolato," he finished with an Italian accent, and handed the menu back.

"All excellent choices, Sir," the waiter told them. "Our sommelier will be by shortly with a wine selection."

Once the three Holmes were alone, their mother added her own two cents.

"A truly big selection, you truly want my company today sons."

"I wonder why you doubt it, mother," Sherlock told her. "After all, we did show up."

"Your humour needs work, darling," she told her youngest.

"I'm a work in progress," he replied.

After the sommelier came and went with their preferred wine and the first of the dishes arrived, the light discussion was brought to why Wynnfrith had asked to see her sons.

"It has been a while since either of you came to any of the functions I organise," their mother commented.

Sherlock and Mycroft avoided each other's eyes, just barely.

"You know how hectic work schedules can be, mother," Mycroft told her.

"Just as you both know how embarrassing your absence is for the family," was her stern reply. "Your presence has been sorely missed."

"Was our presence actually requested?" Sherlock said with curiosity. "I cannot imagine why. Between Mycroft and I we have insulted every single one of your guests."

"Sherlock," Mycroft chided ,"Some of them were to oblivious to the insults."

The two shared smirks.

"You are both acting rather immature about this," their mother told them. "Why Lord Moore's daughter Beatrice had been wanting to meet you."

"Wasn't she engaged to some royal from Sweden?" Mycroft asked.

"Terrible story that one, the engagement ended due to the future groom's dalliances with..." she held the rest back. "Anyway, none of those details are important and gossip is beneath us. The important thing is that she asked after you Sherlock and it put me in a terribly awkward spot. And you, Mycroft. Penelope Pender was there. She's back from Zurich and will be moving back to London for good. You remember her, don't you? From Royal Ascot?"

"Vaguely," Mycroft replied. "But her timing is rather poor."

"You occupy a minor position in the government. I doubt the workload is that rigid."

"Mycroft here is rather dedicated," Sherlock commented.

"No one is more dedicated to his work than you, brother," Mycroft commented. "And more importantly, mother, you know my stance on marriage."

"If I got married, then so can you," she told her sons. "What reasons could you possibly have not to?"

"We hate interaction with humans in general," Sherlock told her.

"Now you're being difficult Sherlock," she chided.

"I'm not marrying someone I consider stupid and your little findings sounds exactly that. If you do pressure me I might just seek ways to make myself a widower."

"I'd best help with your alibi then," Mycroft offered and got a nod from Sherlock.

"Most welcome, brother."

Madam Holmes scowled. "You are being difficult on purpose, aren't you?"

"Are you in a hurry to be a grandmother?" Mycroft asked her. "A belated maternal instinct?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft. You both need heirs and the years won't stop just because you wish to indulge in your little hobbies. Who are you going to leave the company to? when are you going to start training your heirs?"

"Oh, mother, how I did not miss these little talks we have," Sherlock told her.

"Are you going to leave then?" she demanded.

"No," Mycroft told her. "But we are going to spend the rest of the meal either in silence or making pointless conversation lest our tempers fly and cause a scene. And mother, you do so hate causing a scene."

She huffed and went back to her meal, her sons doing the same.


	106. A walk in the park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

"I am glad we did not make a bet of it," Sherlock said as soon as they were out of the Four seasons.

Madam Holmes' car had been waiting for her and Anthea had already called Mycroft's driver. The only reasons the siblings were not parting ways yet were how high strung both of them were. And because Sherlock was waiting for what would happen next.

"Get in," he told Sherlock when the car came around.

"I'd rather walk, or take a cab."

"We're not smoking in front of the hotel," Mycroft told him and Sherlock paused.

"I'm trying to quit."

"So am I. And frankly I have to work or I would be in Diogenes right now."

"Getting drunk," Sherlock stated.

"Do you crave your drugs brother?"

"Now you're just being spiteful."

Mycroft snorted. "No, I crave nicotine. Get in the car."

Sherlock huffed but joined him in the back while Anthea rode up front with the driver. Neither of them said anything while they drove away from the hotel, and that continued till they were a safe distance away and at King Edward VII Park. Neither spoke as they walked down the paths that led to the Thames, or as Mycroft lit up a cigarette and then offered his case and lighter to Sherlock.

"You're a bad influence," the younger Holmes told him.

"You'll pass then?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm not all that upset with mummy, not like you."

"I do have an income outside her sphere of influence, Sherlock."

"Worried about me? How touching. Or are you worried you'll be married off first?"

"If you hate people once, imagine what I think of the general populace."

Sherlock sneered. "Most of them are dull, uninteresting specimens."

"Ants," Mycroft commented. "And so far you got one exception in the lovely doctor Watson."

"I'm not going to marry him."

"Because you're not interested or because you think he won't be?" Mycroft asked before taking a drag.

The younger Holmes scowled. "Trying to gauge my sexuality again?" he asked, watching the smoke with intensity. His nostrils flared at the smell.

"Hardly," his brother replied. "You're like me, attracted only to interesting cases."

"I always thought you had no sexual drive at all."

Mycroft smirked. "Do you honestly wish to discuss this matter with me?"

Sherlock gave a theatric shudder. "I'd rather not, thank you."

"You're still a child in so many ways."

"Why didn’t you just tell her you prefer men, then?" Sherlock challenged him.

"Because then she'll just broaden her pool of candidates," Mycroft replied, making his sibling snort.

"I'm bored of this conversation already."

Mycroft nodded and put out his cigarette. "Any crime scene in particular you want me to drop you off?"

"I'll take a cab," Sherlock said and walked away.


	107. A little something with coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

Green eyes focused on him the moment Mycroft entered his office. The wizard that was his assistant was seated at Mycroft's desk and seemed to put some order on the stacks of paperwork all over the place. Two new trays had made an appearance and Mycroft hated them on sight.

"Was lunch that bad?" _Nickolas_ asked as he stood and fixed his jacket.

"What gave it away?" Mycroft asked.

"I smell smoke on you."

"Ah. Yes, then. Mother was charming and my brother... tolerable."

 _Nickolas_ arched an eyebrow. "I am almost sorry I missed it. Almost."

"I was sorry I was there," Mycroft told him as he took his seat. "Foreign affairs ministry?"

"NATO, actually," the wizard told him. "But MI6 put the idea forth."

"Last Thursday's meeting, then," he sighed. "Would you mind terribly if..."

"I made you a coffee?" _Nickolas_ asked with amusement. "It is actually in my job description as your assistant. Perhaps a little something sweet?"

"I already had dessert."

"I'll help you burn it off later," The wizard said and went to do as asked, leaving an amused Mycroft behind.


	108. Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

Dessert later did not happen due to a minor crisis in the Middle East. It was a little after ten that the green eyed wizard was finally able to relax in the privacy of his home, with a two fingers of Firewhisky in a glass and a plate of sandwiches (the least Kreacher was willing to let him do), and four dogs lounging around him. Artemis in particular was curled around his feet, sensing his troubled mood. He put his glass down and absently scratched her head, smiling when she seemed to melt under his hand.

"Master should it," Kreacher scolded from the doorway.

"I've eaten..."

"One," the house elf fretted. "Master should eat at least three more."

The wizard sighed.

"Something happened to Master?" Kreacher asked, worried about him.

"Something did happen, Kreacher," the green eyed man confirmed.

"Can Kreacher help?"

"Can you give me a reason as to why I allowed myself to indulge my crush with my boss?"

The house elf blinked. "Master's Holmes?"

There was an odd lilt to his voice and Kreacher seemed hesitant. It got the wizard's attention. "Do you have anything to say? And please do if you have."

He valued Kreacher's opinion but this was not a matter the house elf could advise him. But...

"What do you think of Mycroft Holmes, Kreacher?" he asked the being.

"Very smart for a Muggle," Kreacher promptly replied. "Kreacher is very happy that man is not a wizard Master."

The green eyed man quirked his lips. "Yes, Mycroft surrounded by magic would be... entertaining." Also not possible anymore, but that was beside the point. "Do you think he is dangerous?"

"Kreacher knows he is dangerous," the house elf stated. "He had you bleed for him."

And that was in a nutshell why the wizard was rethinking his decision of taking his relationship with Mycroft Holmes into the bedroom. They worked well together outside it, a duo that spiked fear in others both in the office in their official capacities and out of it when they were moonlighting with various agencies around the world. Kreacher was correct that Mycroft was dangerous. And the raven haired man had given him even more power when he practically swore his loyalty to him. He had to keep the two relationships separated, it was vital so that his working relationship with Mycroft Holmes did not suffer. Also, neither of them wanted a scandal in the workplace. And the wizard would hate if emotions of any kind got in the way of protecting his charge when it was needed.

"Master has to eat," Kreacher scolded, shaking the wizard from his thoughts.

"Yes, sorry," the green eyed man agreed and grabbed another little sandwich. He would need to speak to someone about the situation with Mycroft. Better yet, he would need to speak to Mycroft himself.


	109. Naked in the Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

The next time the Holmes siblings met, it was under a Royal roof and Sherlock was not wearing anything. Sherlock had decided to be difficult and Mycroft had decided that he just did not care for the tantrum his sibling was throwing. Hence Sherlock being manhandled into coming to Buckingham palace in nothing but his bed sheet.

Upon looking at this, Mycroft felt a headache building. The green eyed wizard ( _Leonard_ for the day) at his side looked very much like he wanted to laugh. A stern look from Mycroft and he swallowed the impulse.

"I shall find some clothes then," _Leonard_ commented.

"And call Dr. Watson, perhaps he can make Sherlock more agreeable," Mycroft told the wizard.

"Leave John out of whatever mess you want me to clean up for you. And there's nothing wrong with my attire. You insisted I was brought here whatever it took."

"Yes, and I have not regretted that yet. Really Sherlock, naked?"

"I'm sure you've had your share of days when you end up naked somewhere you ought not to be," Sherlock said.

"When I do end up naked anywhere, it's exactly where I want to be, brother," Mycroft answered. "And generally speaking, out of the two of us, only you are showing signs of being a nudist. After all, out of the two of us, only you are standing in Buckingham palace with a sheet wrapped around you."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "There, you practically admit it."

Mycroft sighed. "What did I admit?"

"Clothes are here," _Leonard_ announced.

"I'm not wearing them," Sherlock said and pulled the sheet tighter around him while he sat imperiously on the couch.

The green eyed sighed. "Well, perhaps the good doctor can convince you to get dressed," he said, lips curling in a smirk.

Sherlock glared at him. "Why the smirk?"

 _Leonard_ smiled. "If you have to ask Sherlock..."

The detective scowled. "Is this about some sexual reference?"

The wizard turned to Mycroft and whispered so that only he heard him, "She's going to eat him alive."

The man who was the British government sighed.


	110. Scandal in Belgravia, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Reader: pussycatadamah  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Mycroft rubbed his temples when he saw in front of him the latest update of the Adler case. The dominatrix it seemed had found his brother irresistible, only in terms of playing mental games with him. Their files on her had revealed she much preferred her own gender but she found it fun dominating men. It was not about the gender but the act, for her. And she enjoyed mental games best. At least Sherlock had discovered that the pictures Irene Adler had in her possession were not to be used for blackmail, not blatantly at least. Adler led a dangerous life and apparently wanted a little bit of insurance. Mycroft was really not one to begrudge people their safety net, but in this case she had stepped on Royal toes.

He had briefly toyed with the idea of employing her services (and she would be needed), but she was too much of a wild card to do that. Her alliance was only to herself and she was rather fickle with her attentions. She had left a trail behind her, people who fell for her charms, or her skills. She was a thrill seeker, much like his brother. And she had also caught Moriarty's attention. His green eyed assistant had confirmed their involvement in one of Moriarty's plans.

An added headache for Mycroft was that Adler had CIA after her as well, and they were quite insistent to retrieve her 'little black book' without the assistance of the British Government. Last he heard apparently his brother, the good doctor and Adler had managed to foil that plan.

"Headache," the wizard asked him.

"I hate dealing with Adler."

"Well, she was much more fun to deal with that time at Cannes."

Mycroft shot him a glare. "Cannes was amusing to you? It was a disaster."

"Moscow was a disaster. And Lyon."

Now Holmes man winced. "I'll give you Lyon."

"Want me to intervene?"

"Not as long as the situation is salvageable," Mycroft replied. "And as long as she's not a danger to Sherlock. You best deal with the CIA."

"They are rather cocky," the wizard agreed.

"Keep me updated. And take Anthea with you. She needs to see how you handle them. And please do not cause an incident."

"What happened in Prague was in no way my fault," the green eyed man stated.

Mycroft snorted, but only after he was alone in the office.


End file.
